


Contritum Canticum

by Lionnfart



Series: Contritum Canticum Universe [1]
Category: Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers Generation One, Transformers: Prime
Genre: Abusive Relationships, Amnesia, Autobot Slavery, Bigotry & Prejudice, Decepticons Win AU, Drowning, Dying Cybertron, F/M, Female Character of Color, Forced Sterilization, Human Experimentation, Human OCs - Freeform, I am not sugarcoating him, Love Triangles, M/M, Master/Pet, Matrix of Leadership (Transformers), Megatron is an Asshole, Prime/G1 AU, Slow Burn, Stockholm Syndrome, The Decepticons win and are bad guys, Torture, beatings, human slavery, this will not be a happy story
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-24
Updated: 2020-07-27
Packaged: 2020-09-25 02:13:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 13
Words: 89,221
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20368948
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lionnfart/pseuds/Lionnfart
Summary: (Abandoned. See notes.) "... of all the things he thought he would find in here, he did not expect a naked human to hold his gaze and look soangryof all things..." (A longfic Decepticons won AU with human slavery and G1 elements.)





	1. Naked and Not Afraid

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! This work has been abandoned. If I ever return to it, it will be rewritten from scrap. Most of this was written as a teenager and it's a lot of nonsense, some of which I shake my head at. I would write it a lot differently now. I'm leaving it up because a lot of people left really nice comments, and I do like to look back and see how far I've come as a writer. ☺️
> 
> Critique is not welcome, as I’ve already learned everything I can from this. If you happen to like this piece of juvinellia, comments telling me so are received with open arms. 💕
> 
> Thank you to all the readers who left me so much encouragement over the years!

He had destroyed the Autobots.

Megatron woke every morning to that thought with a vicious smirk.

He remembers every Autobot capture, down to the last detail. He would run the scenes over and over in his processor as he gets ready, bringing his chassis to a high shine and just  _ almost _ seeing their horrified faces in the reflection of the plating. He sighed, lifting his jaw to stretch his neck. He’s content in his victory.

The Autobot’s fell after they destroyed the Omega Lock while it was in the process of cyberforming Earth. Megatron always thought he would restore the Lock to complete the transformation of Earth, but when he approached the human rulers, he was surprised by their willingness to cooperate. He supposes watching North America and some of the Atlantic turned to metal would make them consider their options more… carefully.

He attached his fusion canon to his arm, appraising himself in the mirror. He deems it good enough for a public appearance, and makes his way out of New Darkmount.

At first — once the Autobots no longer a threat and the humans made slaves to mine resources and Energon — his empire ran smoothly, without issues. Cybertron was restored to it’s full operation, and the natural wells within it gave them an abundance of Energon to use towards feeding the returning neutrals and Decepticons lost in the galaxy. And then there was the restoration of the cities. Iacon made an excellent foothold to secure his reign.

And then, the wells dried up.

It was quiet for a few decavorns. The imports from Earth was enough to sustain most, but not the poorest mechs without government aid. Eventually riots began in the outlying sectors, the new oxygen-rich atmosphere allowing for fires to burn for days as the protestors looted and pillaged what they could. It took several strategic bombings to wrest back control.

The Energon Riots, as they were dubbed, were becoming a more and more distant memory. Earth’s Energon production was tripled after them by directing the human labor force into almost exclusively the mines. The rest went to specialty uses, for smaller companies on Cybertron and to research in synthetic Energon development. And then, there was the pets.

Megatron walked across the long ramp connecting Darkmount and the towers of Decepticon Command headquarters. Outside, Iacon was bustling from the ground to the sky. The city was gaining more and more life by the year, the buildings and architecture giving the planet color again. Megatron, however, didn’t pay it much mind.

He allowed his security to verify his EM field’s signature at the double doors, and then he descended the stairs into the main entrance at Command. Soundwave’s thin frame was hunched over a datapad, but he looked up at Megatron’s approach.

“Lord Megatron, we need to talk about-“

Megatron waved him off, walking past. “Not today, Soundwave. I’ll be taking a day out of the office.”

Soundwave followed at his elbow, nodding. “So I’ll cancel your meeting with the Seekers, and the video conference with the Constructicons on Earth.”

“Reschedule it for next deca-cycle.”

Soundwave lowered his datapad. “And what exactly should I tell Starscream that you’re doing today, master?”

Megatron grinned. “Tell him I’m purchasing a human.”

The first time Megatron saw a human pet, he was disgusted. Skywarp, on his most recent trip to Earth, had discovered a human male who — after an unfortunate incident with some Energon refining equipment — was up for the chopping block. Skywarp thought his lack of a right arm was endearing, and took the human back to Cybertron. He strutted the cripple into High Command’s meeting room like it was the most natural thing in the world. And then, the chaos ensued.

Megatron spent hours listening to Shockwave and Starscream play verbal tennis on the subject of whether humans should be allowed to be kept as pets. There were several issues: what of the mining operations infrastructure? How would they regulate which and how many humans would be allowed to lounge around in Cybertronian homes when they could be delivering all-important Energon? The fighting was almost as bitter as who would get which buildings when they first arrived, and Megatron ended it with: “It’s useless as it is, and how many will actually want to take care of the fragile insects? Let him keep it. We’ll deal with these problems as they arise.”

And how he had regretted that decision. Within a week of Skywarp’s debuted as a human pet owner, all mechs of the upper class were scrambling to find out how and where they could purchase a human of their own. Smugglers like Swindle soon stole specimens from the breeding programs on Earth and sold them to the highest bidder. They became status symbols of the hierarchy, and High Command was stuck with sorting out the illegal activity and finding ways to govern the new breeding programs for pets started on Cybertron.

As Megatron walked out onto the bustling streets of Iacon, there was a change so familiar it was almost unnoticed by him. Mechs and femmes parted like waves as he walked, creators whispering to their children as they pulled them off the main roads. 

Pomp and circumstance had always irritated Megatron, but the common mecha showing respect was fine, if sometimes tiring. But he did recognize the need for a show of his Lordship, and that was one of the reasons he decided to acquire a human pet. At this point, *all* of his officers had one, two, or three human companions, and they flaunted them at every chance. He rolled his optics during most displays. He understood why his inferiors might need to resort to such acts, but his pet would be a quiet display at his side, never pining for attention. He had never needed such desperate bids for dominance, and he most certainly didn’t need it now.

The trip to the shopping district went by in a blur, and soon he was pushing open the door to his destination. A small chime went off on his entry, and he took in his environment while he waited.

It was a cramped space for someone his stature, but he was used to that. It was quiet, chirps from a pair of turbo foxes somewhere deeper in the store the only real disturbance. There were a few isles in the moderate room, but to the far wall were glass containers with small bipedal forms crouched in the corner or standing to look at him. A thought occurred to him then: he wanted a human that stood to greet him when he approached.

Some bustling green figure emerged from the back, brushing himself off. "Hello, what can I do for-"

Megatron turned, and the shopkeeper backpedalled. He dove from behind the counter and dropped to his knees, stiff as a board. "High Lord Megatron! What an honor to receive you in my humble establishment! Forgive me, I do not have-"

"I'm looking for a human." Megatron did not like preamble when he had business to do.

"A- A- Wha'?" The shopkeeper's head shot up. "Oh of course! Let me just-" Then he looked into Megatron's eyes once more, and his face made a  _ smack _ when it hit the floor. "F-forgive me, m'lord! I'm just so-"

"You may rise." Megatron rolled his optics, tone thoroughly impatient.

"Thank you, m'lord!" He bolted to his pedes, hands wringing. "Uh, yes, this way!"

He turned and began walking to the back, but Megatron did not follow. "But what of these humans?" He gestured to the glass tanks. "Are they not your stock?"

The green mech paused, turning. "Oh, um-… yes, of course. But they are not what I present to the Decepticon command, no, absolutely not! I have just received a new shipment from a supplier on Earth, and they are being held in the back, waiting for sorting. But I've already selected the best individuals, and these up here compare poorly to the new! So yes, this way, m'lord."

He again turned once Megatron began following, and he led him through the back. He had to duck underneath the door he passed through, and sideways at that. It only made the small shopkeeper more nervous as he blubbered out an apology that was partly too fast for Megatron to understand. Megatron, though irritated, had come expect it. Not many buildings were designed for bots his size.

The shopkeeper nervously shuffled towards the large cages and crates holding the new shipment. He immediately began prattling on about the quality of some of the specimens, and asked him to excuse their shyness as many humans are a bit shell-shocked after their interstellar journey. He was right - none came forward to see Megatron as he approached as some in the front had, and he was almost tempted to see the others first. But he did admit that for what little he knew about humans these appeared to be better quality. They had better weights, brighter optics, and some specimens even appeared attractive by Cybertronian standards.

"Now, most these here are from the British Isles, or England, but we have a few Africans, Iranians, and even a couple of Koreans in the back here," - he pointed towards a cage where the humans had light olive skin - "But for the most part, you'll be speaking English to this group. No need to download new language packs then!"

Megatron finished perusing the humans, looking back to him with his hands clasped behind his back. "They still speak English?"

"On Earth?" The shopkeeper questioned. "Oh, yes, they most certainly do. It's slowly becoming mandatory, actually - breaking down the language barriers in the production facilities has improved output. But most of these here were bred in farms specifically for producing pets, so most of them do speak their countries mother tongue, as they say."

Megatron decided it was hard to assess the humans when they were so disoriented. Most were asleep, the others gazing off into space or giving him cold, scared stares. "How long will they stay like this?" his tone was displeased.

"Not long!" He rushed to amend. "Most acclimate within two to three Earth days, though some can take a week. But they should be back to their active selves in just a few hours…. I’m guessing.”

"Your guessing." Megatron muttered, just loud enough for the shopkeeper to hear. He did not respond, and Megatron looked at the other crates that had yet to be unloaded. Though, one was opened, off to the side. He took a step towards it, and the mech jumped into a flurry.

"O-oh that one's quarantined — probably had something before it got loaded, I'm going to have the rest of the bunch checked before I let them mingle with the rest up front."

"What's wrong with it?" Megatron peered into the cage, seeing a tiny figure hiding in the shadows of the box.

"Something upper respiratory, and severe. She's not going to make it. I'm going to have a word with my supplier for sending me unhealthy stock."

In the dark corner of the cage, Megatron could see a clearly naked and trembling female. The smallest noise came out of her — a rattling wheeze, with each exhalation. She looked up from the long clumped fur on her head, straight in his eyes, and held them for a moment.

Her bare feet not making a noise on the grates of the bottom of her cage, she stood, inching her way closer. Eyes shone with intelligence. She was fearful, but that fear was quenched. She walked closer, trying to cover herself and stay in the shadows. Her face looked pale in the light as she crept into it, eyes narrowed and lips a thin line. Megatron was slightly surprised. Of all things he thought he would find in here, he did not expect a naked human to hold his gaze and look so  _ angry _ of all things.

And he liked it.

"Prepare her for travel." His voice commanded, walking towards the front of the shop.

"W-what?" the shopkeeper was floored. "But, m'lord, if I may, I cannot insure her health, a-at-at  _ all." _ He followed Megatron's imposing figure until he turned back to him, smoldering red optics hard. The shopkeeper gulped, but continued. "She’s horrendously sick, and also has preexisting conditions! She'll need medication for the rest of her life, including treatment for the infection, a-and females are always harder to care for. Plus, she's an illegal! Wasn't raised in a farm, nor registered in the workforce. Personality-wise, after all that running about it in the badlands, she will be a  _ handful _ , no doubt. And that's not even factoring her age. The young adults are always feisty..." He gave the human a glance, and expected to turn back to a Megatron who might be reconsidering. But the same hard expression stared right back.

"I will be needing all the supplies to care for her that are immediately necessary. Also, a human doctor reference, and all of her current health records that you have. You may bill to my offices at Decepticon Headquarters."

He turned to leave for the front again, and the green mech was stunned. "B-but-“

Megatron turned around again, eyes more sinister, his voice lowering to something more threatening. "Will I be needing to take my business elsewhere, citizen?"

"N-no, sir! M'lord!" He bowed low, eyes darting around the floor. "She will be ready to leave in a few minutes!"

Megatron barely acknowledged him, ducking through the doorway again and headed towards the front. He sat in a bench by the door way, waiting.

The mech returned with a cage and a small sack, as promised. Megatron heard the wheezing even inside the crate.

"Yes, here you are, m'lord. I’ve included a weeks worth of food — be advised, she is highly allergic to gluten. There’s further instructions on her care in the file I gave you."

He handed Megatron the crate and the sack. He bowed as Megatron held the small crate in one hand as he sub-spaced the supplies. "If there is anyway else I can be of service to our Lord, please, do not hesitate to contact me." He paused, then leaned in. "And if she becomes too much, don't worry about bringing her back. Just off her and flush her down the latrine, if you would. Make it quick and painless."

Megatron gave the shopkeeper a squint, but nodded. "If it would be best, then I will. But I highly doubt she will become 'too much.'"

At that he turned and walked into the crowds, leaving the shopkeeper beaming but slightly confused.

* * *

Megatron returned to Decepticon Command relatively late in the day, as planned, far after Starscream and his posse left. He had made a quick trip to the recommended veterinarian after noticing his human was out cold, only to be assured that she was merely sedated. And after a quick examination of the unconscious female, was given medications to help with a severe lung infection. He made an appointment for an in-house visit later that week for a more thorough evaluation, as he was growing tired of the stares sent his way by the common rabble. He was beginning to believe he had a desperate need to make more public appearances if simply his visage across the street had full-grown mechs cowering in fear.

But, even as he arrived at Command at the time all mecha had retired for the day, he knew to expect one mech still attending to his duties.

He knocked twice, firmly, on Soundwave's office door, though he knew he probably already had seen the warlord on the security cameras. The door swished open for him, and he found his Security Director where he always knew he could — sitting in the glow of a console as he examined footage of all the empire.

He never ceased to impress Megatron; Soundwave’s abilities were always first-rate, but when he made the jump from surveilling one planet to  _ two, _ still nothing slipped past him. He even knew of the sedition before the Energon Riots weeks in advance.

"Soundwave." Megatron greeted, a genuine smile on his face. "I would reprimand you for not getting rest, but at this point, we both know it's pointless."

Soundwave's mask held no emotion, but his voice sounded like he was smiling. "Yes, we both do. I apologize, Master, but the work is never done."

Megatron's smile slowly slid off his face, replaced by tiredness. "No, it is not. Yes, it makes me think, back to the day we stood on a new Cybertron as Autobots lay dead before me. Ironic, how ground thrummed to life underneath greying bodies. Your first words in thousands of vorns, and you chose to say, 'Now, look at all the work we have to do.'"

This time, Megatron swore he could see the grin through Soundwave's mask. "It was true, and it still is." He looked at the crate. "Don't tell me you did."

Megatron sighed as the TIC came forward and held out his hand, asking for her. Megatron gave him the container, and the slender mech's fingers took it gently, setting it on his desk. He opened the door and pulled the small form out.

He seemed taken aback. "You purchased  _ this?" _

Megatron was quick to defend himself. "Yes. It had spirit. Looked me right in the eye; the rest didn't dare." He paused. "But, is it... that bad?"

"No, forgive me, Master," Soundwave sounded apprehensive. "It's not... bad. Just unexpected." He reached behind his desk and pulled a thick, soft cloth from a drawer. With his gaze following Soundwave’s hand, Megatron just now noticed Soundwave's human, Darren, standing attentive on the desk. Soundwave wrapped the cloth around the female's form, and Megatron couldn’t take his optics away from the boy, watching Darren's eyes linger on her bare skin.

Soundwave leaned in and listened closely to her chest, hearing the heavy rattling. "Did you take her to a physician?"

"Yes, and they said it would take a while, but she would recover. They prescribed antibiotics for the infection."

Megatron had not seen Soundwave's face but twice in his life. Once, partially, when his mask cracked severely in battle the first time they met. He remembers his bloodied lips pulled in a thin line well. The second, when they were in interstellar space traveling to Earth, just before Megatron left on his three year journey in the cosmos. Because of seeing his face so little, he had become very, very good at assessing Soundwave's body language. He had it, contrary to the rumors that flitted about the Decepticon - and now civilian - ranks. And right now, Soundwave had a parental concern wafting off of him that Megatron only witnessed when he was with with his own symbiotes, and recently, Darren.

"Do you think that's all?" Megatron asked.

Soundwave paused, but shook his head. "No."

He carefully removed the cloth over her midsection. She was laying on her side, and Soundwave carefully ran his digits over her ribs. He stopped on faint pink, puffy scars, jagged and gruesome. Megatron had scars like that, and they had hurt when he earned them.

"She was injured, and I believe she never healed properly. The infection is just a result of the damage. It's surprising she has made it this far without medical treatment. She's an illegal, is she not?”

"Yes, that's what I was told."

"Breakdown's pet was an illegal, and you know how long it took and how many mishaps he went through before the rat was ready for the public. Are you sure about this?"

Megatron's eyes were hard as he turned to his TIC. "Of course!" He snapped.

Soundwave averted his gaze to the floor. "Of course, Master. You understand the commitment."

He put the female back in her cage, careful to bundle her up. "I hope you acquired clothes for her."

"What?"

"Their outer coverings. She's going to need some to keep warm. Humans can’t maintain their body temperature as well as ours. Coverings stabilize it.”

Megatron thought for a moment, then huffed. "She can make due with polishing cloths."

Soundwave smiled. "Prepare to do a lot of improvising. Especially when she begins to menstruate.”

“… What?"

Darren made a sudden noise, like a gag; both mechs turned to him, but he had his arms crossed and was looking off into the distance, refusing to acknowledge them.

Megatron turned back to Soundwave, suspicious of this English word. "What do you mean, 'menstu-'"

"We're going to have plenty of opportunities to discuss her care, Master. It's getting late. The best thing for her right now is to get settled in."

Soundwave reached down and scooped up Darren. The dark haired boy bowed to Megatron as Soundwave did. "Goodnight, Master."

"A good rest to you as well, Soundwave." Megatron nodded, clapping him on the shoulder as he left for his home.

Megatron looked at the crate on the desk and silently sighed. He might as well prepare her for bed.

* * *

When Megatron was choosing his abode during the rebuilding of the planet, he decided that it needed to be close to Command Headquarters, wherever that was going to be. He spent some time trying to plan layouts with the existing structures remaining after the war, until he came up with a novel idea: instead of make his home near or next to Command, why not make his home  _ in _ Command? Or better yet, make Command in his home?

So, behind the forefront of offices and meeting rooms of Headquarters, connected by a long, tall, wide hallway, was Megatron's castle. It was just as grand as a castle should be for a ruler, towering over it’s neighbors and situated as the highest point in Iacon. It's christening of 'Darkmount,' after his fallen fortress, held a close second for his favorite memory, right after his own titling ceremony with his officers.

He walked through the long hallway quickly. He could tell the human was waking up by the groans and irregular breathing. He passed through the great room and guest bedrooms, all immaculately kept. His servants had all left for the day, as part of him still liked to recharge knowing he was alone, so he would need to settle her in on his own.

He took the elevator up over the stairs as not to jostle her, and walked across the hall to the master suite. He went straight to the bathroom, drawing hot water in the sink. He remembered that once Soundwave spoke of giving Darren hot baths, how his charge preened and sighed in contentment. He would see if his human liked them as much as the boy did.

He set the crate down, grabbing towels and a gentle cleaning solution he liked to used on his cuts and scrapes. He took the supplies given to him by the trader out of his subspace, and went through them. He had a strange substance advertised as a human food substitute, though he had never seen anything like it. It was reddish-brown, canned, and mushy. He wondered if the human would even eat it. He decided that he would ask Soundwave what he fed Darren, but the canned food would do for now.

He actually did have some clothes — what looked like two pairs, simple sheaths. He set those aside along with the records, what looked like medical and known history. He was too curious not to thumb through the criminal records, and was just about to read about a theft and assault charge at a Decepticon outpost in the badlands when he heard her squeak.

He looked at the cage, setting the holopad down. The rags inside were being rustled, movement visible in the grates on the sides of the cage. He got up, slow and careful as he remembered Soundwave once said that humans were always skittish when first brought to new environments. 

He kneeled next to the cage, looking inside. She was standing, wrapped in her blankets, still as a statue. Her hair, dreaded and matted, was clumped against her dark skin in a greasy mess. Smears of dirt and grime covered her. He finally met her eyes, and she stared back at him, expressionless. 

He was very unsure of what to do next, but knew that whatever he did, it would be a lasting impression. He resolved to open the crate, servos reaching forward to unlatch the clasp.

In an instant, she was pressed up against the other end of the crate, arms held against the back wall behind her, chest wheezing rapidly. Her neutral, tired eyes had turned wild in an instant.

"Easy," came out of his mouth too quick to catch, and for once, he cursed his rough, gravelly voice. "I'm not going to hurt you. You want out of this cage, don't you?"

When she didn't respond, staring uncomprehendingly at him, he remembered that he was still speaking Cybertronian. He cursed, shaking his head. "It's okay," he tried, gently, but he swore English just made his Koanite rasp all the more hard. "Come here. I'm not going to hurt you. I've got medication for you, and a warm bath drawn. I have no intention to harm you."

She paused, thinking, a dozen emotions flickering across her face so rapidly Megatron had a hard time identifying any of them. She calmed, though, arms still held at her side, expression skeptical. "You’re him, aren't you?"

He paused, not expecting her question. All he could come out with was a dumb, "What?"

"You’re him." She still panted, then coughed, coughed this horrible cough, and Megatron then understood the human expression 'hack up a lung.' When she recovered, she continued, "You’re him. Megatron. The eyes, the shoulders, the voice. You’re him."

He didn't quite know what the correct response to that would be, so settled on a firm, "Yes."

She sighed. "Well then," she steadied herself, gathering a deep breath. It seemed like she was trying to inhale the world in that breath, and then, “Then you can go  _ frag _ yourself!"

She dove under the blankets, her hand flew up in a rude gesture, and then the mass stilled.

He stayed in front of that cage until the water in the sink started overflowing.

As he stood in the warm puddle in front of the marble countertop, staring at the crate, he worked himself into a serious wroth over the whole ordeal. He now understood why everyone cautioned him so much over the female.

He felt the smallest sense of dread settling in.


	2. Scores

Megatron awoke with a start, his eyes popping open and darting about the ceiling. He brought up his internal hub to see the time. It was mid-morning on Cybertron, and on the off cycles. He sighed, closing his eyes again to fall back into recharge.

He felt, though, that he was missing something. He cautiously brought up his calendar, wanting nothing more than to stay in today. But he was mistaken. He only had a note mentioning Shockwave's exhibition at a newly opened science museum in the arts district, and he was not even personally invited by the scientist, so he would not bother attending.

He tried again to drift back into recharge, but the nagging feeling would not go away. When he heard a light metallic clang from the bathroom, he remembered. _The human._

He sat upright, swinging off the berth and walking quietly towards the bathroom's doorway. He paused in the doorframe, peeking in to see if she was awake yet. He had drained the sink last night and — but did he close her...

He saw the crate's door wide open, and his spark sped in panic. He could see it now:a headline in the news, _'High Lord Loses Ape Pet.’_ He bolted into the bathroom, eyes darting around to see if she left footprints or any other clues to where she might have gone. _She's microscopic,_ he thought. _She couldn't have gone far._

He saw one of the sheaths missing, and a dozen or so food cans open, strewn about. _How could she eat so many in one night? She must have been ravenous._ He then noticed the cans made a trail, and not off the counter, but towards her cage.

He leaned down carefully, optics lighting the crate's interior with a faint red glow. She was curled up with a few more cans, wrapped in blankets and donning the missing sheath with her hands caked in the canned sustenance. She was fast asleep.

He sighed, audibly. "Wake up."

She stirred, lightly, but did not move more than an inch. He took the cage lightly in one hand and shook it gently. "Wake up," he repeated.

She groaned, a long winded, grumbling mewl. Megatron did not need to strain his audios to hear her as he did some of the humans. She was plenty loud, the moan carrying on and on as she stretched. She ended the noise with a huff, eyes still screwed tight, then strung up another tone as she stretched her arms in front of her like a cat. Megatron was a bit transfixed by the whole scene, not seeing or hearing anything quite like it before. She was apparently very vocal, at least nonverbally.

He waited a few moments, watching her wake, until she seemed to remember something too. Her eyes shot open, taking in the cage walls, and then him. She immediately bolted to her feet, the sheath appearing much shorter on her than he had anticipated. Her legs were thin, and her arms were like knobby tree limbs. It was obviously not an appropriate weight for her. He would need to fatten her up.

"Calm down," he spoke quietly in English. "I will reiterate: I'm not going to harm you."

She all but sneered, her eyes hard. "How can I believe you?" He noted that her voice rang clear and her breaths came unlabored, signs the drugs were working to clear up her infection.

He paused, then huffed. "With time. Come here."

"Screw off!"

"Come. Here."

"Go frag-"

But he had already heard this once, and he wasn't in the mood to watch it play out again. He lifted the cage, turning it upside down, and she tumbled out on the countertop with the blankets and cans.

He stared down, anger slowly rising. "Now, I will narrate the rules, and only once."

He leaned down on her level, eyes smoldering. "You will not speak so disrespectfully to me, rat. I am your _owner,_ and you are my _pet._ I can and will do with you as I please."

He picked her up by the scruff of her sheath, she seeming stuck somewhere between petrified with fear and simmering with rage. "You will do as I say, when I say. No more running about the badlands as a fugitive, as a 'freeman' or an 'American.' You are my property now, and you will never again be free."

He lifted her close, his hot exhaust washing over her and blowing the tangled hair out of her face. He saw his own red optics in her dilated eyes. "You are mine now. You will live the rest of your life, here, on Cybertron, with me. You are an entertainment, a plaything, so I expect you to be amusing and enjoyable for me and my guests. So,"

He pulled the sheath straight off her head, to a flurry of foul-mouthed protests from her. "First, to be even remotely attractive, you need to cleaned."

He walked to the sink, once again filling it with hot water. He was tempted to make it scolding since her screaming was so flippant. "You do not _own_ people! I'm a sentient being, just like you! I'll get out of here and show you, you tin-can bucket-headed overgrown calculator!"

He dropped her naked form on the counter, where she held her knees to her chest. "You’re gonna wake up _dead,_ you _sonofabitch!"_

He was currently thinking of a way to punish her, as she was blatantly ignoring the first rule, and by extension, the second. _Unicron’s exhaust, her only job is to sit and be petted, yet she won't be satisfied with it._

He stood over her, her mantra seeming more and more like Starscream's prattling with every word. He pinched his eyes shut until he couldn't handle it anymore.

"Enough!" A fist slammed the counter next to her, cracking it. He lifted his servo to see the crumbles fall of his knuckles. He growled. "You _will_ obey me, even if it takes severe _consequences."_

She was unintimidated, eyes flashing. "Then try me, bitch!" His patience snapped.

She was suddenly in a fist, and in the next moment, under the water. She struggled and screamed, wasting all of her shaky breath in a matter of seconds. He waited, smoldering optics looking down at her and seething. She writhed and kicked in vain, his digits clamped down tight on her until she began to still. A few lone bubbles drifted to the surface, and he blinked.

He lifted his servo out of the water, and laid her on the marble counter. Her wet skin picked up the dust and crumbles in the crater as his servo had. She was still for a moment, then wretched, reflex kicking in. She turned on her side feebly, coughing slick water onto the counter. Her palms hit the marble and she sat there, shallow, sick coughing wracking her frame, something hanging off her lip.

He did not give her much time to recover, picking her up again in a fist and staring her in the eyes. She was otherwise placid, but he noticed how she recoiled from his hand, arms trying to cover herself from his touch as she wheezed hesitantly. He grumbled, "Now, where were we..."

He hovered his hand over the bathwater, planning on setting her in it, but she cowered with a squeal, trying to squirm her way out of his hand. It was startling to see the open terror in her eyes.

"Stop your blithering." He spat out, dropping her in the water.

She seemed paralyzed once she hit the surface with a small splash, treading water fearfully as he grabbed a cloth and cleaning solution he had left out the night before. He went to catch her again, but she pushed against the rim of the sink, staring up at him with this new expression he had not seen her use before. He decided he did not like it.

His servo relaxed, and so did his face soften, a digit dipping under the water to stroke her back carefully. She jerked away, but she didn't have far to go, his patient servo following her around the rim until she was trapped between the two of them. One cupped under her as the other soaped the cloth, and he felt a small smile creeping up on him.

Her expression went from absolute terror to worried in a few minutes, relaxing under the rinses of water he cupped then dumped over her head. She seemed to get hot often, panting after a few minutes under the water. He lifted his servo so she could find escape from the heat if she desired, perched up on the tips of his digits.

She was quiet for the rest of the bath, but reserved. She gave him a death glare when he went to clean what the humans referred to as their 'privates;' he had to remind himself that they were incredibly shy, physically, compared to Cybertronians. So, he decided that he had tested her bounds enough for the day and left her alone on that matter.

He did not like that sheath, nor did he have any other clothes for her, however. While he contemplated dressing options, he heard her say something quietly. His eyes eyes flashed on her.

"What?" It had been his first words in over an hour.

"Oh, nothing." She wasn't as quiet, but her voice was contained, the tone different.

He was more pointed. "What did you say?"

She held his eyes for a moment, and he noted that she did that a lot, unafraid of his gaze. A tingle bloomed in his chassis, growing with each second she matched his stare. Then she smiled, bearing bone-white, straight teeth that he saw clear against her dark, clean skin. Her eyes did not crinkle, but bunched together in an interesting way when her firm cheeks rose to accommodate her grin. It was an earnest smile. "Tweety: one. Megatron: one. We're even."

He paused, trying to understand what she was saying. _Tweet-..._ But then he stopped. "Your name is Tweety?"

The grin settled into a gentle smile. He decided that he liked her demeanor after baths, relaxed and settled into a corner of a fluffy towel. She would receive one daily. "It's what I've always been called, so yeah."

He rolled the English name off his tongue silently. _Tweety._ It seemed more like a nickname than a given name, though. But if it was what she preferred.

He turned his grey mass away from her, walking across the room to see if there was some smaller scrap of fabric he could wrap her in. "But why are we even? It appears that I have won this round completely and with finality."

He heard her smile turn demure from behind him. "But I told you to frag off and got away with it last night, remember?"

He paused, pursing his lips, voice turning dark. “It won't happen again." He found a small scrap of polishing cloth that was small enough to perhaps pin around her. She needed clothes, so he’d send a maid out shop for her next week. But where did they acquire clothes for humans on Cybertron?

He turned back to her, examining the cloth closer, until he noticed her preening in the mirror. Her hands carefully separated and combed through her dark hair, but it was futile. Thick mats had invaded her back-length hair, making long tendrils that weren't going away anytime soon.

"We're just going to have to cut it off." He declared, rummaging through the cabinets for a pin.

"No!" She shouted, turning to him. “Why would we do that? It’s fine! It’s _important._ Human hair is part of the nervous system — it's what gave the Native Americans superpowers!"

He paused, looking nonplussed. "I doubt that."

"Research it, _bit-"_ But she stuttered to a halt at his cool stare. "M-master." She amended with a chuckle.

His optics brightened. "Yes. You are to refer to me as 'Master' from now on, and only that." His tone was smug, almost gleeful.

She sunk deeper into the towel, frowning. He ignored her pout, picking her up and pulling the towel off, making her yelp in the open air.

"Lift your arms," he demanded, and she did so carefully. "Part your legs, too." He said flatly, and she looked at him, shocked.

He sighed. "I'm trying to _appeal_ to your ridiculous demands for privacy, so just do it. And stand up."

Her cheeks reddened furiously, but she stood with a wide stance, her arms raised at her sides. He chastely wrapped the cloth over her shoulders, between her legs, around her middle and back, and then pinned it at the nape of her neck.

She stood back from him, transfixed at this new apparel. But he noticed how she seemed to sag in relief; her arms went to her sides, feeling the soft fabric of the polishing cloth.

He smiled, grabbing her in a fist and turning to the bedroom. She protested at being handled so roughly, but he ignored her, too focused on what to do next.

He usually spent his free hours indoors, reading, sparring with drones, or reviewing new presentations by various members of Decepticon Command. But now that he had this new acquisition, he might have to change his plans. He needed to better assess her character, and he thought that might be better done seeing her interact with her own kind. He could drop in on Soundwave, but he did want to give the the courtesy of privacy to his favorite officer. He had treated him well for many vorns.

He would still visit him, though, for this occasion. But he would give some warning.

_:Soundwave. Are you available this afternoon?:_

It took longer than a moment for the telepath to reply, though not by much. _:Yes, Lord Megatron. Is your new human... giving you trouble?:_

Megatron let a thoughtful hum filter through the link. _:No… I am of the mind we've already settled our differences. I merely wanted to see her sociability before I let her run loose through the common of headquarters.:_

_:Ah. Most wise. Do you wish me to report at Darkmount?:_

_:No, I'll be coming to you. Expect me in a couple breems.:_

_:I will be waiting, Lord Megatron.:_

He cut the link, looking back down at his hand. He had led them to the great room as he had walked, and she seemed taken aback, protests going silent. He looked down at her, optics squinting. "What? What is it?"

She was transfixed, eyes darting over the walls. "It's so... _big."_

He realized, then, that yes, it must be big for one so small. He let out a little chuckle, and he noticed how her brows quirked at the sound, her head titled to make her ears attentive. He walked through the hallway into the offices, her eyes and ears on a swivel this way and that as they walked the empty halls.

He walked through the front doors into the daylight with no preamble, and she flinched against the sun. Shielding her eyes with her arms, she ground out, "God, that's bright."

He opened his subspace, setting her inside carefully. He felt the reverberation of her loud voice inside his chassis. "Ah, that's better."

He knew that she wouldn't be thinking that for long, but transformation was a fact of life she was going to have to get used to. He shifted, and heard her scream jolt all around him, gears whirring until they settled into his jet mode. He shot off above the tall glass buildings of Iacon, heading for the skyline. She panted in the passenger seat, hands clutching the seatbelt.

"Well…alright." She tentatively looked out the cockpit window, then sat back up ramrod straight in her seat. Her eyes looked like they could pop out of their sockets. "Yes. That's high."

He humored her. "Yes, it is."

They were silent for a minute or more, until she just couldn't seem to handle it anymore. She blurted out, "Where are you taking me?"

He contemplated his answer, careful of his words. "My communications officer. He will asses you."

Her face only got stranger. “Okay."

The rest of the flight was silent, and he could tell she felt awkward in it. Though she eventually relaxed, face going slack, she rubbed her fingers, hands alternating petting each other. He eventually noticed her shivers and diverted more energon flow to the seat to make her warmer, but he soon realized it wasn't because she was cold.

The flight was brief to Soundwave's residence, and Megatron transformed once again. She didn't scream this time, and sat upright in his palm once he was bipedal. He walked quickly up the doorstep of the abandoned apartment building on the outskirts of the city, punching the code to gain entrance to the elevator and entering. Her eyes watched his moves carefully, even swaying to the rhythm of his gait.

He knocked quietly on Soundwave's front door, knowing he might wake a sleeping cassette. He soon felt foolish for that, however, as inside the apartment was decidedly noisy, the faint patter of gunfire and explosions making it through the door. He was about to knock again when the gyros in the locks shifted. When the door opened, he was not greeted by Soundwave's face, but let his eyes drift to the floor.

Rumble stared up at him, eyes wide, then huffed. "Boss, it's for _you."_ He bowed dramatically, disappearing behind the door with a flourish. Megatron entered, unamused, but Tweety peeked over his hand to try and find the little mech.

Megatron noted the source of the noise: Rumble’s red twin, Frenzy, playing a video game at the entertainment center. He was propped up on the couch and surrounded by debris from snacks.

Soundwave entered the bustling common room as Megatron did, bowing his head and giving Frenzy a quick look. The red mech turned the sound on the gaming console off, looking over his shoulders to watch the proceedings.

Tweety's eyes darted to the cassettes in the room, the high ceiling, and then Soundwave. Megatron reached forward, patting his TIC on the shoulder. "Thank you for receiving me on such short notice, Soundwave. I know you prefer to keep business in the week."

If the communications officer was lying, he did not show it. "There is no inconvenience, master. I am happy to see your new acquisition."

He leaned forward, giving Tweety a visored stare. "Darren."

Even farther to the floor than the twins, a mop of black hair popped out from behind the corner. It’s distinctly British lilt called back, "Yes, master?"

"Come see Megatron's human. Your name?"

It took Tweety a moment to realize he had asked her. “T-Tweety," she stuttered.

Soundwave righted himself. "Tweety. Fascinating. I see that cough has cleared up overnight, as well. Rumble, get a pitcher of water. And grab some of Darren's lunch."

The blue cassette grumbled but did as told, poking his glossa out at Darren as he passed by. The human gave a lopsided grin in return, gesturing something rude behind him.

Soundwave picked up Darren and invited Megatron to the couch to sit, but Tweety heard none the exchange. She was staring at Darren, and Megatron only noticed her fixation after a few minutes of speaking idly with Soundwave.

He flicked his gaze back to the telepath, and Soundwave nodded. They set them both on the table, and waited to see their interaction.

Megatron was not quite sure what Tweety's intense stare meant, so he kept his hand rested on the table, ready to snatch her up should their meeting turn violent. Darren tried to give Tweety a smile, but it faltered after her refusal to reciprocate.

She stood where she was as he walked forward carefully, straightening his flannel shirt nervously. "Hi." Was all he said.

Her hands twitched, and she gave him a simple quirk of the brow. "Hello."

He gulped, twining his fingers in front of him. "S-so your Lord Megatron's now, eh? Got yourself a good one there. The rich owners get their pets all the nice stuff."

She wrinkled her nose. "'Good one'? How 'bout a load of _horse shit."_

Megatron's knee-jerk reaction was to pick her up and show her what this 'horse shit' just was, but Soundwave raised a hand to implicate to wait. Megatron paused, then leaned back in his chair to observe.

Meanwhile, Darren's smile had reemerged, and his eyes had deepened. "You sound like your from the badlands?"

She nodded, her arms crossed. "Yeah."

His eyes shifted, again, solemn and apologetic. "I heard it's pretty rough out there. Never seen them myself; I grew up in a farm."

"Oh, so your a _lapdog._ That makes since, your soft tone and little smiles. You were only ever meant to please."

He laughed, a small sound. He thought for a moment, his hand coming to scratch the scruff on his chin quizzically. “That’s what I assume you would think, coming from the badlands. But it’s not really that way, y’know. We don’t really just sit here and grin.” He leaned forward, and paradoxically, he was grinning. “I’m not just an accessory. I’m a working part of Soundwave’s duties. I was the runt of my group, so I was the obvious pick for docility… but Soundwave wasn’t testing household manners. He was reviewing IQ scores.

“This is not a lapdog life,” he said, flicking eyes to the twins fighting over something in the distance. “The Decepticons make use of their humans. I’m sure Lord Megatron will set you to some task. I’m sure that as long as you do your best at whatever he gives you, you’ll find it easy to live here.”

She stared in return, her reply sarcastic, but unsure. “I-I’m _sure_ that’s right. I’ll make sure to do that.”

Megatron felt there was something hidden in the awkward phrasing. But the table's attention was pulled away by Lazerbeak swooping onto the tabletop to deposit a tray, quirk her head curiously at Tweety, then alight on Soundwave's knee to watch.

Darren did not hesitate to approach the tray and sit Indian style on the smooth tabletop. "C'mon, I know you must be hungry. Probably thirsty, too." He looked up at Tweety, waiting for her to begin eating.

As everyone seemed to wait with bated breath to see Tweety's next action, she stood awkwardly with one foot stuck in front of her. Apparently she was poised to approach the meal but pride and distrust hung on her face. Megatron saw some interesting dynamics forming. Firstly, his human was insecure, and lacked trust, likely not in just them for their culture and status, but in everyone. This characteristic was no doubt found in the badlands, struggling for food on the metal desert.

Two, Darren was incredibly patient, he could see that plainly, and had some sort of practiced gentleness. Knowledge shone in the boy's eyes. Knowing of what, Megatron did not understand, _yet_, and he was curious to find out.

He was so absorbed in these thoughts that he did watch but not really register Tweety sitting down, Darren filling her cup, then she politely declining the bread of the sandwiches but requesting simply the meat and cheese. Soundwave sent him a ping, and that shook him from his revelry.

_:Is she celiac?:_

_:I believe so... Yes, yes, she is. Can she eat the meat?:_

_:As long as she's not sensitive to cross contamination, she should be fine.:_

_:Well I hope she isn't then. I remember something about that shopkeeper telling me she'd need to see a medic.:_

Again, Megatron saw the subtle lift of Soundwave's shoulders and the extra blip on his visor to indicate he was surprised. _:You do remember, master, that we culled the human gene pool of those prone to genetic disease to increase production. Since autoimmune disorders only affects those of certain genomes, we would have to assume that it has yet again replenished itself. We might need to issue another round of genetic testing and DNA restructuring.:_

"No, Soundwave, nonsense." Megatron spoke aloud as he straightened himself on the couch, the two humans looking up at his seemingly sudden exclamation. "There will be no need of another thinning. She's from the badlands, and so only those of the badlands will be affected. They can all get sick and die for all I care."

Soundwave straightened carefully before the irritation of Megatron, thinking carefully before he continued. "That is most likely. But what if the illegals find their way into the contained populace? What if they breed?"

Megatron's hand that had been hanging off his knee clenched. "Then, Soundwave, and only then, we will issue another culling. But I do not wish to bother with it until then; it is wasteful to try and prevent against such an improbability. What do the badlanders have to do in the camps? Nothing."

Megatron stood, pacing behind the couch. Darren had gone back to eating quietly, but Tweety watched, brow furrowed as the giant thought aloud. "What would they have to do in the cities, Soundwave? Food? Shelter? That's all that comes to mind. An uprising?" He laughed here. "Now _that_ is even more improbable than the gene pool of the captive humans also reverting. Think of it, Soundwave!"

Darren was unfazed as Megatron worked himself into a good guffaw and Soundwave smiled pleasantly behind his mask, but Tweety looked furious. Before Megatron could toss in another comment she rose to her feet and spun around to face him. "What do you mean it's improbable? It's incredibly likely! They're starving out there, and you think they're just going to lay down and die?"

Megatron's smile slowly faded as he regarded his excited charge. "It's not a matter of their desperation, pet, more so their capacity for any real damage to Decepticon rule. How will, how _could_ such little organic fleshlings as yourselves dare to compete with us in battle? You don't even have your pitiful technological advancements now. There is nothing you could do, or ever will do."

"That's a lie!" She snarled, pointing viciously. "There's plenty we could still do! We have determination and desperation on our side, and _that_ is all the resources we could ever need to fight back."

He leaned down, his smile returning. "Is that so, little one? It seems as if you've already heard of this rebellion. Please, I am ever so interested in the details."

She crossed her arms, snorting, but her cheeks had flushed. "Even if there was one happening- th-that I knew about- I wouldn't be stupid enough to tell you."

His smile shifted into a frown. "Which is disappointing."

She didn't realize what was happening until she was in his grip again, startlingly close to his optics. "I believe you've forgotten the most important rule. You are mine, and always will be. I would hope you aren't holding out for this hypothetical uprising to come and free you." He smirked. "You will be sorely disappointed."

She was tossed onto the table, his words still ringing in her ears too loud to even protest. "And you've also forgotten your manners, pet. What do you address me as?"

"Master." It was automatic, her eyes distant as she looked up at him.

"Good." He turned to Soundwave. "She's still... 'rough around the edges,' as the humans say. Do you have any suggestions from your experience with Darren? I would hope one day she will be as well behaved as he is."

Darren had continued eating leisurely throughout the proceedings, and Megatron noticed again that he did a tremendous job not even flinching at the hostile air Tweety carried back to the food. Soundwave looked down at the young male, then stroked the length of his backside slowly with a digit. As soon as Darren felt contact, he paused, then leaned into the touch as the digit made his way down his neck, shoulders, and back.

"It was a matter of earning his trust, at first." Soundwave said, going for another stroke that made Darren openly smile, stretching languidly. "He was used enough to being handled, so... Perhaps it wasn't even trust. Maybe it was more of bonding with him."

"For the first few days, he was hand fed. It was the same procedure I had used with all my symbiotes. I took him with me everywhere, and had him within arms reach at all times. He enjoys games, tactical ones, so I made sure to keep him occupied. It was very similar to getting acquainted with all my other acquisitions. I observed him frequently, took note of his likes and dislikes, and acted accordingly to either accommodate or change his priorities."

"But what about discipline?" Megatron was quick to ask, once again seated and leaning forward on his knees. "Did he ever act out? Get unnecessarily irritable or defy you? What did you do?"

Soundwave tilted his head, thinking. "I never had any serious complications with Darren that was not solvable by simply... Depriving him of something. Taking away privileges."

"Like food?"

"No. I never took away any necessities. I learned with Ravage that a particularly stubborn student _will_ out wait you on those restrictions. I'm not sure if that would be the case with Darren, but I have found other sources of deprivation good enough."

"Like what?"

"His games. Entertainment, let him sit bored for a while. I refused him showers for a week. That was not the most pleasant though, for anyone involved… I believe Rumble and Frenzy suffered the most in that incident, actually, rather than Darren, them being unaccustomed to human excretions and the ones closest to his level. But discipline was never what I highlighted most — he seems to excel under praise. Try rewarding them for good behavior. Darren loves massages after long work days, and his favorite treat is cheesecake. I know that Breakdown and Knockout take Isaac on races."

Megatron appeared thoughtful as he looked at Tweety eat sullenly, but he was doubtful. "Well, Soundwave, you are fortunate to have such a amicable human. Hopefully mine will change her attitude soon enough."

He could see the girl stiffen and shrink in on herself at his words, but otherwise, she had no response. He stood, scooping her up to her vocal dismay and nodding to Soundwave. "Thank you for your time Soundwave. I have a few things to attend to back at headquarters."

"Of course, master." The SIC stood with the gladiator, bowing. "If you require any assistance with her, I am at your beck and call."

"As you always are." Megatron clapped him on the shoulder and turned to leave, letting himself out of the loft.

Soundwave didn't need to look down to know Darren was paused with a mouthful of food, and did not wait for him to speak to answer his question. "Yes, I'm worried too. Hopefully command won't be burned down by the end of the weekend."

* * *

The human was silent on the return to Darkmount, Megatron noticed. He watched her intently as they flew over the Cybertronian landscape — her first intentions were to, apparently, pout, but that slowly changed. She was enraptured by the sprawling cityscape, distinctly Iaconian crystal towers reaching up to the dark expanse, illumination coming from below. It was no doubt strange for her. Her planet's orbit around the star they referred to as the Sun offered a strong wave of high light during the daytime that was beautiful in itself. But here, just beginning to align itself with Earth's orbit, Cybertron's residents determined the day/night cycle, thus the faintly sparkling purple sheet that eyes found when looking heavenward.

Megatron dropped down onto the landing deck above Darkmount out of preference, transforming and then holding the dazed girl in his palm. After checking she was there, he marched into the bowels of the castle, eyes forward and intent.

He took his time on his way towards his preferred common room, watching his charge become tenser with his every step further into their prolonged silence. Her temperature and pulse elevated by the second. She looked around the halls they passed, her mouth a firm line, jaw tight.

The doors to the lounge swung open and he paused, letting out a long vent. He dumped Tweety onto the coffee table, then exited the room. He heard her protest something, but didn't pay it any mind.

He dropped by the bathroom to pick her up a towel to nap in and grabbed himself a few datapads with his weekend reading material. He returned to the common room, only to stop at the threshold. The room felt vaguely empty. He darted to the couch, face hard. Tweety was gone.

He started to rage, throwing the towel and datapads down on the couch. _What is wrong with that human?_ He lunged into the hallways again, but paused. _Where could the tiny thing be? The brat… I'm going to skin her for this._

* * *

Tweety had learned many things from the badlands. Her experiences has been rough, and she had been born of fire because of them. She learned how to find food, shelter, and avoid detection from Cybertronians and her own kind alike. There were many things Tweety knew how to do, but accepting the alien that threw her whole world into chaos as her master wasn't one of them.

Tweety gaped at Megatron as he stormed out of the room. "You can't just leave me here!" She shouted after him, but he didn't acknowledge her. She grumbled, sitting quietly for a moment to consider her options.

Her eyes flickered for many a moment until she made a move - leaning over the edge of the couch, arms crossed, appearing unimpressed. _I can do that,_ she mused. _Jumped off bigger cliffs trying to get away from those slavers._

She stood up, again cocking her head to the side as she looked down, muttering to herself. "You can do this, you can do this…” She edged closer to the drop, pausing momentarily.

"Just better jump it." She squeezed her eyes shut, flicking them open furiously, then leaped.

She tumbled and rolled gracelessly, finally stopping in a heap with a few grunts. She stood slowly, shaking her limbs out, taking in the ground level. She nodded as she snapped to her feet. _Easy._

She ignored the pain in her left shoulder as she jogged forward, heading for the way Megatron had come.

_I'll find a way outta here if it's the last thing I do._

As she ran with her handicap she quickly became disheartened. The shoulder seemed to get worse with every stride, jostled by her brisk job. The halls' length was overwhelming. She barely covered the distance Megatron managed after several minutes when he had merely taken what seemed like seconds. The _real_ problem, however, was becoming more and more apparent as she went farther and the minutes ticked on: she was terribly lost.

She paused at a corner, leaning against a wall and panting gently. Taking her in surroundings, she looked for doorways or thresholds leading to bigger passages, assuming it would take her to the large hallway leading to command's offices. But it wasn't such a feature that caught her attention. Warm lights spilled from the doorway her eyes landed on.

She stepped towards the room cautiously, bare feet pattering softly on the metal floor as she slipped into the glow. Her eyes shone brightly, interested, taking in the dimly lit room. _I need to go…_ she grimaced. _But I might find something useful on my way out, if there’s anything to be found. I literally have nothing when I get out there. _With a brief look behind her, she entered.

The first thing that confronted her were intense, but still eyes, a creature looking down from a pedestal. She almost screamed, until she realized that it was dead, and this must have been a trophy room. The walls were blocked with paintings and hung weapons, mounted busts and fully taxidermied figures lining a pathway through the crowded room. She shivered, taking in the vicious faces and menacing tools of war detailed by spot lights. She contemplated turning back to her search for the exit, but something drew her here. Forcing the sudden chill in the air off, she went further.

It was deathly quiet — and a room of death it truly was, she noticing with horror Cybertronian specimens with the Autobrand proudly displayed on their frames. She moved past these individuals quickly, trying hard to concentrate on the soft sound of her breathing. A hand moved up over her heart and laid there, feeling the rise and fall of her chest.

She paused to observe certain exhibits briefly, but only stopped when she stepped out of the shadow of an unknown monster to see the desk. The desk was large for most Cybertronians, and undoubtedly Megatron's. How much he used it was up for debate, for upon closer inspection a thick layer of dust clung to the ornate legs of the chair.

She looked around for a bit longer before she found a suitable place to climb. Stepping into a notch on the chair leg, she hoisted herself up, taking her time and thinking through her steps. When the engravings ran out, she jumped onto an open cabinet ledge, peering into it's dim innards briefly. She couldn't quite make anything out, but believed she saw datapads and perhaps a container or two of refined Energon.

After several minutes she had the satisfaction of heaving herself onto the top of the desk, standing tall and peering around curiously. The first thing her eyes locked onto though startled her.

A holoframe — an older model by the looks — sat precariously at the edge next to the slight monitor and past the keyboard projector. It was dim with age, and the image was fuzzy, the faces barely recognizable. She was walking forward to it to confirm it was a much younger Megatron when she felt, rather than heard, the footsteps.

The desk shook just slightly, the tremors rapid and steady, growing bigger and bigger with each shake. She gulped, realizing Megatron was getting closer, perhaps even well aware of were she was.

On the off chance he didn't, however, she wasn't going to give up. Looking around for a place to hide, she glanced over the edge of the desk at the still open cabinet. It would have to do.

She tried to edge down the side of the tabletop lip once again as she attempted to calm her thumping heart, it's tempo as a conductor's feverish hands. It’s emotions seemed to seep through her spine, past her elbows, and into the already tired fingers that held her so precariously.

She slipped, tumbling all at once into the bottom drawer far below. She settled with a small crash, knocking into dusty datapads and rolling a ways. She moaned, her already protesting shoulder now practically screaming.

She bit down on her tongue hard, tasting blood as the steps finally shook the surrounding drawer like an earthquake. She heard the hiss and groan of pistons pumping and gears spinning grow closer and closer.

It was very quiet and still, the shuffling feet growing slightly fainter and then zoning back in several times. She could not just feel the tremors or hear the movements but felt his presence: large and hungry, hunting as a predator.

It was perhaps a minute or so before he apparently turned and left, the tremors growing fainter and fainter. She let go of a breath she didn't realize she was holding, cradling her bad arm as she stood slowly and collected herself. She felt exuberant, if slightly shaken. Smiling, she looked up at the top drawer's open end to prepare to climb out.

Only she had not expected to see gleaming red optics staring down at her.

She shrieked, darting to the back of the drawer to escape from a servo that appeared. She dove underneath datapads, only for them to be tossed aside violently with a vehement growl. She tried to dodge the hand again, bolting for the front of the drawer, but he snatched her, pulling her up so fast her head spun.

She was before his face, feeling the hot exhaust blow across her body. "Think you could make a run for it, human? A brave, but pitiful attempt. Now I will have to _punish_ you."

She stared up at him, paralyzed, half seeing him and half seeing water - drowning in a sink, hand around her hard and unforgiving, liquid filling her until there was no more to be filled and then some. She thought she was going to die that morning, but now she knew that this was the moment. _He's going to kill me._


	3. Frienemies

Megatron was furious. Optics ablaze, he tried to think straight as he stood, ignoring the femme's protests. He didn't know what he was going to do, honestly — all he felt was his nerve slipping and his vision hazing red as he squeezed his servo harder around the girl. Her thrashing only increased, sucking in desperate breaths to fill her still weak lungs.

He started forward, out of the room, so absorbed in his thoughts of just _killing_ the girl and being done with the whole thing that he didn't realize they were at the common room. Tension filled the air, her hands finding purchase on his digits to twist herself around to look up at him. Her face was terrified, mouth agape and she shrunk drastically when his optics settled on her slowly. He must have looked murderous.

He tossed her into the towel still sitting on the couch, her form shrieking as it sailed through the air. When she hit the couch — he noted with a wicked gleam in his eye — she clamped her mouth down on a more pain-oriented than fearful noise. She rocked as she held her arm, tears threatening to brim as she glanced up at him again.

He reached down, pulling the arm back and smiling with satisfaction as she threw her head back and screamed out, back arching against the pain. He twisted the appendage, tweaking her shoulder, and she begged incomprehensibly as he heard a none-too-subtle _pop._ The shoulder gave suddenly, and she gasped, bending over and wheezing her words out.

"J-just lemme go- I- I-I'm sorry, 'kay?! Just-"

She broke up again, eyes glistening as she tried to pull towards his hand holding her arm, but he just pulled back harder. "I don't think I will. I want this to be a memorable experience for you."

"You m-mean-!" She coughed violently, lungs weak from her shouting and screams, her voice rapidly turning into a rasp. "That THIS isn't enough?! Dislocating m-my sh-sh-shoulder?! What kind-"

He pulled harder, her arching her back into his hand to try and relieve some pressure. She panted, face now wet with tears and gentle sobs wracking her frame. "O-okay." She tensed up, her body trembling. "Okay! I'm done! What-... What do you w-want me to say?!"

He considered that for a moment, optics flicking to the ceiling and then around the room while giving her arm another testing tug. She screamed loudest this time, open sobs questioning him yet again on his terms. He sighed gently, the sound drowned out by her begging.

_Such fragile bodies they have. Starscream would have lasted much longer._

He let go, and she stumbled in the blankets on her side. Not a second passed before she was swooped into his hand and up in his face, his hot eyes searing her puffy visage. "It's not a matter of what you say, _human,”_ his voice was harder than his eyes, and loud in the quiet, “but perhaps more of what you do. Remember that next time you decide to try and make an escapee of yourself."

He let his hand loose, this time, her form falling limply into the towel with only a strangled cry indicating she was still alive when she hit the couch with her bad shoulder. He rose, still fuming, leaving the room to fetch himself some Energon.

That left Tweety to herself, shaken to the core and still weeping. She sat up after a few minutes, testing her arm carefully only to bite on a scream. She couldn't bear to relocate it herself, and she knew Megatron wasn't going to help her. She felt helpless, sinking back down into the towel and moaning lowly.

Megatron returned sometime thereafter, still thoroughly irritated but not quite as worked up as before. He sat down, optics lingering on the still femme before leaving her to pout. He flicked on the large holo screen to a documentary channel, setting the volume low and picking up a datapad on the coffee table.

Tweety was unsure of what to do now. She felt her eyes begin to dry as she sat up slowly, propping herself up on a good elbow to stare up at Megatron. He paid her no mind, eyes locked on the datapad and not even aware she was conscious.

She nearly yelled at him, anger tinging her cheeks and ears red. _How could he do that to me and then just sit there like nothing's the matter?_ Her sore eyes blazed, and she jerked herself into a sitting position, steadfastly avoiding his visage and eyes locking onto the screen across the living area.

Meanwhile, Megatron smirked internally. Sneaking peeks of her while she wasn't looking, he could tell she was mad and working herself into a good pout. It did not bother him though. He settled in to wait until she was willing to submit, noting to himself that then he would allow her release from the pain in her shoulder.

It passed for a while like that, he occasionally flipping channels, Tweety eventually settling down into the towel for a bit of shut eye, her pain making her weary. Her sleep was restless, as Megatron noted her tossing and turning, hisses of pain punctuating the commentary coming from the holoscreen.

It was a couple hours later when he nudged her sleeping form awake. "Wake up. You need to refuel."

She groaned, pulling an edge of cloth over herself. "G'way. Sleepy. Hurts."

The last word was a bit unexpected. He assumed her stubborn pride would not allow her to admit to the pain her punishment inflicted, but perhaps she was beginning to soften. Or perhaps sleep had let it slip. He suspected the latter with a hum in his throat, a noise she didn't hear.

"You've been sleeping for long enough. Get up, fleshling, before I resort to twisting your shoulder again."

That caught her attention, springing up straight away, her eyes wide with a bit of panic. Her hair even more disheveled than it had been pre-nap — which he found unbelievable, it was such a rat's nets already — she stared at him before slowly shifting her gaze to the food he offered. It was more of the canned goods he had purchased from the merchant, and even though she was hungry, her mouth went dry at the sight of the mush.

“More of this. Fantastic.“ She declared flatly, obviously sarcastic as she took the offered plate from his digits and began to resignedly shovel the sustenance into her mouth.

His digits did not move from away from her, resting on the towel in front of her crossed legs. "I will see about procuring fresher human fuel soon." If she was grateful, he couldn’t tell. She only swallowed her first bite stiffly.

She did not apparently notice that his hand did not return to him, and he kneeled down slowly, watching her eat. He held the hand next to her very still, afraid at any moment she would notice and catch on to his intentions.

Slowly he moved his servo forward, going to touch the long dreadlocks hanging past her jowls. He fingered them softly, and she froze, eyes locking onto his. They did not betray hostility, though, merely a touch of fear from her last encounter with his servos, and perhaps curiosity.

Either way, she began eating again with only a bit of caution, watching his digit move up her head to scratch lightly at her scalp. She again froze, cocking her head into his hand, then started up eating again. He wondered what that far away look in her eye was until he heard the small hums, little moans building in her throat. She turned her head downward, pushing her crown into his ministrations.

_She enjoys this,_ he noted, obliging her wish and using his pointed digits to carefully scratch at the base of the dreadlocks, stimulating her scalp. She munched every few moments, the food in her mouth forgotten, as she went more and more slack. He thought with a small smile that she might fall to the couch, sprawled out in bliss.

It eventually ended, though, after the entirety of her skull had been explored and appropriately stroked. She sighed, sitting back up straight again as she continued eating her food. She paid his still wandering servo no mind, his touches not sensual, but merely exploratory, she realized. _He must be getting to know his property._ She thought with a small grumble that he seemed to not notice. She would have fought him, but her shoulder still throbbed as warning.

He trailed over her shoulders, running the back of his digits over the skin and noting the feel. Their biology was strange, but similar to theirs, with a few organic modifications. But human skin would always be an interesting texture, this thin outer armor that seemed to only keep their innards from spilling out and nothing more. They were so delicate and fragile, something he had already become familiar with earlier while punishing the girl. His digits simply feathered over her lower arm and it left light trails of scratched skin, not piercing the surface but leaving marks.

He stole a hand from her, which she immediately tensed due the fact it was the one belonging to the bad shoulder, but after a few moments of him simply tracing the lines in her palm she calmed. He tried to feel the grooves in her fingerprints but couldn't come up with anything. His optics zoomed in to find that they in fact _were_ there, as he had been told, but so microscopic in comparison to him that they were almost impossible to see, let alone feel. He huffed, she looking up at the sound as he flipped her hand over and brushed his touch over her bony knuckles.

He noted her reactions to all of this very closely — now done eating, her face turned down to the couch, expression practically blank. Despite her wild rearing, she seemed incredibly fine with strangers handling her in such a manner. He could not help but wonder why. He would have expected otherwise.

No matter the reason, the signs of her submission were enough to convince him it was time to relocate her shoulder. He carefully made his way up to the joint, and she yelped at the gentle contact he made with it. She scooted away, holding her hands over it.

"Just leave it alone." She commanded, eyes hard.

"No." He said flatly. "I will see it."

She clamped her mouth down, scooting back into the crevasse of the armrest as he cornered her, turning her body to the side so he could see the injury. The shoulder sat up and to the back, the skin around it all shades of purple and yellow, ranging from black to sickly greens.

His digits closed around the joint, and she squealed before he even applied any pressure. "Don't! Don't! Just leave it!"

She ducked out from under his servo, running to the edge of the couch. He internally sighed, thinking her not _that_ stupid as to jump off the couch again. "It must be mended. Your arm is loosing circulation, which could be detrimental if left too long."

She seemed deaf to him, head jumping back and forth between him and the floor. His hands swooped in, pulling her from the edge and pinning her down in his palm before she had the chance to react. She gasped then tensed, burying her head in his arms. He sighed.

"Hold still, I will make it quick." He reacted before he could stop himself, brushing over her back to try and calm her.

She laid stock still, jumping when his fingers clasped around her shoulder once more. He took a half-breath, then pinched. He heard the _crunch_ faintly, it being drowned out by her scream. She balled up on her side, cupping her hand around her shoulder but afraid to touch it. Her eyes welled up, teeth clenched and bared visiously.

He pulled her form into his chest carefully, stroking her sides and allowing her a moment for the pain to fade. She was resilient and recovered quickly, not surprising him. She stood up after a few minutes, eyes roving the room.

He watched her intently, until she turned back to him and held his gaze. There was no words spoken since he didn't feel the need for them and she was still a bit too sore for another quip at him. But something in her eyes was beginning to soften, he noticed. Reluctance was there, and hurt, as she laid back down, already ready for sleep. She curled up next to him, somber and quiet, breathing regulating out and she going more and more still.

* * *

At first she swore she smelled bacon. She sat upright almost instantaneously at the prospect, eyes roving her surroundings critically as her mind raced to wake from deep sleep. She was in her cage again; that dreadful cage, with the dark corners and dirty rags on the floor, empty food cans strewn about. And there was an infuriating lack of breakfast food.

She cursed her own senses, falling back over dramatically as she whined. That canned... _something_ was dreadful and if morning meant eating more she wished to sleep as long as possible.

But then she realized something had not been quite right about her cage. Pulling a rag aside to peek from the floor, she looked again. The sinister grates that held her in were gone, the door wide open.

Cautiously, with her skin prickling in excitement, she silently glided across the blankets to the entrance, peering out. When she saw no dictator robots, she extended one foot forward, eyes alight, mouth taught. She stepped over the precipice and then skipped forward, crouching as she looked around again. She saw nor felt any presence of any kind. She believed she was alone.

Her mind began spinning, tossing ideas in all directions as she turned a full circle to survey the landscape. Perhaps she could use the rags in the cage to form a rope, getting off the counter that way? She believed her shoulder could bear some climbing, and if not, she could bind it tight before attempting. How to get past the closed doors, like the one at the entrance of the bathroom that lead to Megatron's berthroom? Well, she could perhaps use a can to chuck at the sensors, binding them together to make a large enough mass to maybe get-

Here she stooped down, reaching out with her left hand to pick up the cans in question, only for her shoulder to scream out and bring her to the floor in surprise. She bit down on her tongue to keep from calling out as the pain rose and crescendoed, then tapered off to a dull throb. She panted on the floor, realizing Megatron had twisted the shoulder that she had injured jumping off the couch, making the injury doubly worse. She began to reconsider, his face seared in her eyes as she stared at the countertop.

_I'll escape when I'm better,_ she told herself, rising slowly as she gripped the shoulder. It felt utterly cowardly — which made her mind roam to overwhelming feelings like helplessness and despair. She stood, dwelling in the feelings momentarily before realizing she was already losing. How many years would she spend her life here, in this prison, in this shame?

_No!_ She shook her head, turning around and going back to the cage to make a sling for her bad arm. _This is half the battle, right here. I can't think like this..._

She busied herself with binding her arm securely for the next thirty minutes or so, though it felt much longer as her internal conflict continued. And just when she felt she had gotten a hold of her emotions, she heard the _whoosh_ of the door and felt the countertop shake with the rhythm of footsteps.

Megatron's hulking form came in view, bending down to peer into the cage. "Human? Are you awake?"

She thought about ignoring him, but decided, for her shoulders sake, it best not too. "Yes, master." She almost growled out, not turning to meet his gaze and still fiddling with the sling though it was quite done.

He hummed, attention attracted to her first aid. "I see you have attended to your injury. Good. We are leaving soon."

"Soon?" She turned to him now, leaning forward. "How soon? Where?"

"We are going to headquarters. It is the beginning of the work week."

"But it was Saturday." She blurted, blinking rapidly. "Yesterday was Saturday."

He chuckled, not a warm sound. "No, yesterday was _Sunday,_ as you humans call it. The day you were awake _was_ Saturday."

Her eyes went wide. "You mean I slept a full twenty-four hours? And you didn't wake me?"

His optics slitted, annoyed. "Aren't you thankful I didn't wake you? I could have made your obviously worn-out-little-body polish my armor or dust my shelves, ungrateful rat. Get out here. I need to dress you."

He disappeared from view, pedes taking him away from the island countertop. She was confused, but realized it didn't really matter. Was she really that tired? Her breaths felt less labored, normal even — perhaps she had finally recovered.

Leaving the thoughts alone she stepped out of the cage again, looking over her strange make-shift garb. Megatron came back, his hands reaching under her to scoop her up and hand her different clothes. "I had a maid bring these this weekend. We will find you more at a later date."

He handed her a simple t-shirt and jeans, with modest panties. She was quite satisfied even though the jeans were rather large around her thin waist after she had pulled them on. She salvaged a thin strip from the polishing cloth to make a belt.

A few minutes later after she had scrubbed her face and ate. When Megatron returned for her he scooped her up without warning, something that almost made her loose her breakfast. She wanted to say something but was silenced when he began to march out of the building with purpose, going down the long hallways he had taken her when she had seen Soundwave. Through the skylights in the ceilings, though, she saw a different scene than on the weekend: seekers flying in formation, cargo ships in the upper stratosphere, with their bellies shining from the distant sun's light. It was only when the spectacles were out of sight did she turn her attention back to her immediate surroundings.

When Megatron opened the doors to Command, the gentle noise that had been building abruptly came to full force. Seeker squads and grounder teams marched through the halls, a constant chatter residing against the walls as bored soldiers and staff loitered in groups. Occasionally a Cybertronian would dart past, most often heading towards the center of the building, which was where they were also heading.

All mechs bowed when they caught sight of Megatron, but some mechs greeted him with a hail and others kept their distance. The air Tweety perceived was just as obvious to her as to the other Cybertronians: Megatron was no force to trifle with.

A great set of double doors were opened by guards once they reached the main lobby, and the noise intensified. Inside the main hall levels bustled with varying activity. The lower levels were reserved for slave classes and day workers, and above, it graduated into the clerks and enforcers, leading up to the Command deck. There were already many mecha waiting there, one particular pitch rising up above the bustle, heard clearly.

A resounding _"All Hail Megatron!"_ echoed through the room, and then Megatron began to ascend. Discreet stares and even some open gawking were sent after his wake, all landing on the small form sitting in his palm. Whispers and chatter wafted after them until they reached the highest deck, the officers and soldiers standing attentively. Once Megatron finished his climb, he stood for a moment, holding his possession openly. Tweety felt awkward, so scrutinized, apparently everyone here having foreknowledge of her arrival.

Starscream — or whom she believed was Starscream, a grey seeker, the one with the screechy voice she heard from the bottom floor —slinked forward and then folded his hands, eyes squinted. "So this is the new acquisition I heard_ so _much about from Soundwave. How intriguing."

No other comments were forthcoming, and the top floor was awkwardly quiet for a moment. Starscream, and in turn then the other officers present, waited expectantly for Megatron's response. Tweety was unsure if it was coming until she felt her master shift his weight. "No snappy remark, Starscream? I am surprised. There isn't too many days you aren't able to sneak in at least a single quip in your morning's greetings. I take it as a blessing.”

The seeker stiffened. "Well why would I discourage this development?" He bristled, his gaze sliding away in a gentle eye roll. "It's time you got with the trend. You were becoming even _more_ old-fashioned."

A snicker or two was heard in the present company, but Megatron did not rise to the bait, simply stalking away towards a throne at the center of the table. "Eager to get on with the debates, Starscream? Fine. Let's get this over with."

Tweety was set onto the table top in front of Megatron, her eyes darting to and fro at the seating giants before her. But Starscream was critical, staring her down as if with disgust. "Really, master?Must that rat stay on the tabletop? Per _your requests,_ we keep all of _our_ pets in the pen, over there."

Tweety could not see what 'there' looked like due to her low vantage point, but after a cursory glance Megatron apparently deemed it suitable, nodding at the seeker with cool optics. "Then take her there, Starscream."

The seeker looked uncertain whether to be appalled or mildly miffed, but regardless snatched Tweety up roughly, stalked over to the pen in three swift strides, deposited her, and returned to the briefing without a backwards glance.

Tweety sat on the ground after being practically dropped down, more than somewhat dazed. She looked after the seeker through the strange field surrounding her, which she knew must have been charged with electricity. "Ass,” she muttered, standing to her feet and brushing off her pants.

Though, as she attended to herself, she soon felt alarmingly un-alone. Turning around, she was greeted with more than a dozen pairs of round, shining eyes — eyes, not optics, shimmering and wet, like her own. This assembly of humans regarded her with general suspicion, flocked around her, but keeping their distance. Her eyes met each of them, skins from dark to light, women and men and even smaller children staring right back at her. She wanted to shrink with the commotion of Decepticon Command behind her and these strangers in front of her, but didn't allow herself. Standing tall, she waited for one of them to make the first move.

A teenage male, perhaps a year or two younger than her, stepped forward. His grey eyes and blonde hair were striking, his features soft. But the sneer on his face was anything but inviting. He stood with his arms crossed, shifting his eyes up and down her, then spoke loud and clear, his voice melodious. "So, _this_ is what Lord Megatron decided to pick up. Is he really this desperate?”

Before Tweety could respond, a slightly heavy female younger than him and stepped up only to be pushed aside by another boy. The the thick head of dark hair made her recognize him instantly: Darren.

"Why don't you leave her alone, Marcus, if not for her sake then ours. Did it cross your mind that she'll take whatever you say back to her master?"

This Marcus seemed unfazed, striding up to stand chest to chest with Darren. "Oh, Darren," he began, gaze off to the side, eyes flicking to and fro dramatically. "It appears you are adopting the same affection for our Lord from your master. Why else would you be defending the badlander? We both know she doesn't matter. Megatron will throw her away like another toy in just a few weeks, at most — she was just to get with the game."

With this, the blonde boy tossed a pointed look to Tweety, eyes hard. "But perhaps, my fellow pets, Darren is right — this one is not to be trusted." He skittered away back into the fold of his companions, leaving Darren standing alone and sliding up next to an older girl. He whispered just loud enough for Tweety to catch. "My suggestion would be to stay away from her, just to be safe — she's probably got diseases, anyways. Wouldn't want that, would we?"

He wandered back into the crowd and out of sight, going to stand next to the oldest man of the group and the chubby girl that had tried to approach him earlier. The small crowd now dispersed, as well, to anywhere but where Tweety stood. She had several people cast her menacing glances, and saw too that Darren was now receiving similar treatment. In a few moments it was just him and her standing at the fence, an awkward distance between them.

Darren approached first, his eyes glued to the floor and looking up at her nervously with every few words. "So, sorry about that... They're quite the nervous bunch, you see. Not too often we get a new pet, and we've never had one that belonged to Megatron."

Tweety didn't know how to answer. Questions crowded around her tongue, demanding to be asked, but all she managed was a dumb: "That's okay."

Darren smiled weakly, glancing over the rim of his large black hoodie to check on the others again. He was still met with angry and distrustful stares, so shrugged, turning back to her. "I'm sure we'll be able to change their minds soon enough."

Then, an awkward silence stretched on long after Tweety became uncomfortable. Darren shuffled his shoes and straightened his sweat jacket once or twice, turning to take in the pen next to her. "So..." He finally began, clearing his throat. "You want a little tour?"

She almost winced, wanting nothing more than to go curl up in a corner and sleep the rest of the morning away. "The brief version?"

He smiled at her, warm and genuine, grabbing her hand unexpectedly. "The brief version, promise."

He led her by the hand, continuing to follow the fence to avoid the others. Once at the other end of the hundred or so foot pen, he plopped down in a mess of pillows and blankets, books and mini datapads strewn about. "Come, sit, sit." He waved her forward, patting the space next to him.

Any other pets that were nearby beelined to a more comfortable distance, leaving the two quite alone. Tweety sat down, careful to observe so as not to crush one of the datapads. She continued to look around, her wide eyes never still. Darren watched her for a moment, unsure of what to say.

"I'm sure it's all overwhelming." He began, pausing awkwardly once her attention was back on him. He coughed lightly, looking away and thinking. "I didn't really have a problem with fitting in, really, because I was breeding program. Almost everyone here is, or at least legal. One of the only who was born legal and not from a breeding operation is Marcus, who you just met."

"The jerk?" Tweety asked, her eyes almost ablaze. "What's his problem?"

Darren looked at her and shrugged, glancing over at the blonde boy and his posse a distance away. "I don't completely know his story, really. What's important is that you need to stay away from him, and Poppy and Trystan too. Those are the two he's sitting with. They belong to the seekers, and they have power because of it — and they know it. Rank amongst us correlates closely to the rank of your owner. But, that rule usually doesn't apply to noobs. So until you establish yourself and understand our hierarchy fully, it’ll be best you lay low."

Tweety didn't respond, staring distantly at the seeker's humans, gathered together and glaring at anyone that came too close. The girl, Poppy, was pretty, despite her extra weight, and the middle aged man, Trystan, appeared laid back, the low sound of gentle music beginning after he picked up a guitar laying next to him. Tweety eventually tired of observing the group, though. _For all I care, they can rot in hell._

She laid back in the blankets, eyes on the high ceiling. It seemed so far away, laying down and looking up at it, perhaps miles high. "How many pets are there here?"

Darren seemed a bit startled by the question, jumping next to her and then fumbling for an answer. "Well, oh, I think there's about... twenty of us or so last we counted. Most of us belong to officers or generals that are directly in Command, but there's a few here who belong to managers and heads that run various divisions of government... But we're not the only ones in the city, that's for sure. This is just who shows up here on a regular basis."

Tweety laid an arm across her chest, fiddling with a dirty dreadlock that hung low. "So? What do you do around here while the bigwigs duke it out?" The shouts of Megatron and Starscream could already be heard, with the occasional punctuation of Shockwave's calmer and more dignified interjections.

Darren laid on his stomach next to her, holding a datapad and scrolling carefully. "Read. Study. Sometimes Soundwave pings me during a meeting and then I've got something important to do..." He trailed off here, apparently becoming lost in something he was reading momentarily but then continuing. "But, yeah, mostly just goof off."

Tweety didn't ask anymore questions after that, the silence between them welcome now. She knew exhaustion — both physical and emotional — would take her soon, and she wouldn't be thinking about how bored she was, but rather dreaming about it.


	4. Medical Squeemery

The day rolled on rather boringly. Tweety most certainly napped through most of it, including lunch, but her sleep was frequently (if briefly) disturbed. Her cough seemed to be coming back, making her uncomfortable in any position except propped up. She saw nothing of any Transformers, and not of anyone except the the brief glimpses of her noisy neighbors. It seemed the other humans soon got over their apparent distrust of her or perhaps found her unassuming in rest. They crowded around her, loud conversation and chatter assaulting her ears and making it doubly hard to rest. No matter how much sleep she got, it seemed it just wasn't enough, which she attributed to the infection.

Many hours later, though, she felt the ground shift beneath her in a pattern that was rapidly becoming familiar. She opened her eyes, all other humans suddenly gone, Megatron's long shadow hiding her from the lights.

"Come, human. It's time we leave." His booming voice shook the last bits of sleep out of her, and as she stood up she had the distinct feeling he had wanted everyone, or at least _someone_ nearby to hear that. She resisted the urge to turn around and see if Darren had returned; he had not been there some hours ago when she woke long enough to check on him, and had not been seen since. She assumed Soundwave had given him a task, and she had wondered longingly if it took him outside the pens, perhaps without his Cybertronian master. Maybe he walked the halls into the back rooms of the archives, maybe he even walked the city by himself. Her fitful sleep had been made content with thoughts of what she could do with such freedom. She imagined herself gaining the trust of her masters, somehow, then wandering astray on an errand, finding her way out of the city. Finding her way off the _planet._

Mood vastly improved by these thoughts, she wandered into Megatron's hand amicably. He lifted her up and proceeded on his way, she swaying slightly with his steps and her breaths coming short from the exertion. "Where are we going?" She asked.

She thought for a moment or two he wasn't going to answer her, but then he said as they approached some side doors down a hallway, "To a doctor. I have set an appointment to assure you are recovering."

Her eyes narrowed, immediately wary. "Oh really? Some _more_ pervs' to poke and prod on me?"

He humphed, his eyes flicking to her momentarily then back ahead of him as he entered a multilevel training room, heading towards the stairs to the flight deck. Transforming, he took off, she buckled tightly into the cabin. She coughed a few times, breaths coming labored as the minutes ticked my.

The hustle and bustle in the small practice was the same as in Command, except smaller spaces made it seem more crowded. Tweety jostled awake from Megatron's transforming, having fallen back asleep during the brief flight.

Megatron made a bee-line for a small examination room, ignoring the stares sent from waiting patients. He sat Tweety on the table, and took his own seat, waiting silently. It all seemed very abrupt to her, which was startling. One moment she seemed to be sleeping quietly in Command, and the next she was sitting here in this room with muffled noise. Her mind felt like it was struggling with colossal weights when putting thoughts together.

Minutes passed before the door cracked open. A very average looking mech entered, with red optics and chrome and yellow paint. His eyes twitched from Tweety to Megatron before bowing, holding a small datapad to his chest primly. "It is good to see you again, Lord Megatron."

Megatron nodded, arms crossed and his foot propped over his knee. "She seems to be coughing again, and has been sleeping frequently."

The doctor nodded, spectacles popping from his helm to slide over his optics as he scribbled meticulously. "Any other symptoms?"

"Not that I am aware of."

"Then good. And she has gone through all of her antibiotics?"

"Yes, but she missed yesterday's dose."

"Hmm. That is likely the problem."

_Are they really going to just sit there and talk like I'm not even here?_ Tweety fumed, swaying slightly as a bout of dizziness overtook her. She slapped her hands down on the examination table to steady herself. The doctor looked up, then glanced back down at his notes as he approached. Tweety felt herself gulp loudly, trying hard to focus on his face.

"How old are you?" He didn't look up from his notes but paused, waiting for an answer.

Tweety hesitated for the briefest moment, and saw Megatron lean forward out of the corner of her eye, listening. "Sixteen."

He scribbled, then paused again. "Have you ever had any surgeries or medical procedures?"

She went to shake her head but stopped, biting her lip. The doctor looked up and set a hand to his hip, both Megatron and him now openly staring. She let her eyes flicker everywhere but them and thought her answer through.

"Are you not… sure?" The doctor asked, the barest hint of incredulousness invading his deadpan demeanor.

"W-well," she stopped, a hand going over her stomach, clutching and stroking. "I-I don't have my uterus."

The entire room paused, Megatron unmoving and the doctor blinking momentarily. "By whom?" But something in his tone told him he wasn't asking for his benefit but rather Megatron's; he already knew the answer, but the High Lord did not.

"Sl-slavers." She replied, stone-faced.

"I see." He jotted on the datapad briefly, then looked back up. "And you are highly sensitive to gluten? Celiac?"

She nodded, seeming distant, a hand rubbing her arm. The doctor looked up again, and watched her. "Human." He addressed her, and she looked up from her reverie.

"Is there anything else about your medical history that's important to let us know?"

She paused, then shook her head, eyes drifting to the medical table.

"Alright." The doctor sighed the word out, lifting a strange stethoscope from his subspace. "I will listen to her breathing and take a few more vitals, refill her prescription, and you can be on your way if that is all for today, m'lord?"

Megatron nodded, settling back with a contemplative look as he observed his little lost-looking human.

* * *

She stood in the same living room he had twisted her arm in, taking a long drag off her new inhaler as she looked around atop the coffee table. Megatron had left as soon as he had set her down, leaving her unsure of what to do with herself.

As she settled onto the countertop with some towels he had left her, preparing for a nice nap, she heard approaching footsteps that were most definitely not belonging to her master. She sat up, watching a young femme come around the corner and stop, locking stares with the human.

She was pretty: yellow optics popping out of her thin face, rose-hued decals trimming her baby-blue frame. She had a small bag slung over her shoulder, cleaning supplies and other like poking from the top. Tweety instantly recognized this must be a maid — something she had not considered Megatron might have before, but it made sense.

The maid suddenly beamed, eyes brightening to small suns as she approached Tweety step by step. Her gait was careful and calculated, just as if she was approaching a small bird. Tweety felt her eyes get bigger and bigger as the curious femme approached, until she crouched down at the table and came face to face with her bright countenance. Looking into her optics, Tweety realized that — for the first time since coming to this planet — she was meeting someone that seemed more interested in her wellbeing than her entertainment value.

"Hello." She whispered, a hand peeking up from the floor to shyly wave. "I'm Rosegold. Your Megatron's new human, right?"

Tweety paused, nodding, an actual smile gracing her features. "Y-yeah. That's what everyone keeps calling me, at least."

The femme laughed: bright and golden, just like her happy optics and her name. She shook her head, and Tweety was positively enraptured by those bright eyes. "Yes, I know he's had you for only a few days… Probably a big change, isn't it?"

Tweety immediately wanted to bark out her usual obscene remarks, but held her tongue. Something about the femme was immensely placating, such a calm spirit she was. So Tweety just nodded with the subtle hint of dark thoughts in her eyes.

Rosegold nodded too, glancing over her shoulder to the approaching sounds of Megatron's pedesteps. She stood, hands latched at her front, bowing when the mech came into sight. Megatron looked surprised to see the femme there, but nodded in her direction, setting his cube down next to Tweety and observing the two.

"So I see, Rosegold, that you have met my new pet." Something like a smirk appeared on his face. Tweety would have loved nothing more than to wipe it off.

But Rosegold appeared nonplussed, nodding politely. "Yes, m'lord. You have a chose a fine new possession. I believe she will reflect your grand estate well." Tweety looked up, noting how well the femme composed herself. How long had she been doing this? And did she really believe what was coming out of her mouth?

Megatron nodded slowly, turning to raise the shades on a window with a remote on the table. "Yes, in a few months, perhaps. At this point I am rather unprepared to let the rabble in public for fear of her… _feral_ attitude."

The femme chuckled, looking down at the human and letting a digit stroke her hair as she spoke to Megatron. "Oh, well that's hard to believe… She seems quite docile to me…"

Megatron looked over his shoulder, a brow quirked. "Really? She hasn't snipped at you yet?"

Rosegold looked up from the flustered Tweety, trying desperately to get out from under the affectionate femme's hand. "Oh, not at all, m'lord. She has been the picture of innocence."

Megatron hummed, a servo reaching up to hold his jaw in contemplation. "Then perhaps, tomorrow, you could take her to buy some necessities… Their clothes and such. If you believe you could handle her?"

The femme curtsied. "It would be my honor, m'lord."

Megatron nodded, scooping Tweety up and making for his bedroom. "I will retire for the evening, Rosegold. You may leave when you are done."

Tweety saw the femme curtsy yet again as the mech left, shutting his bedroom door behind him.

Then they were alone, and all was quiet. Megatron looked down at Tweety, and her cheeks flushed, curling into her self as she realized what might come next. A digit rose up to stroke down the length of her spine, and she flinched away, anger flashing on her face.

Megatron thought to himself, _Yes, it is going to take a long time before she is docile and tame, sitting quietly like the accessory she is._

He walked to his sink, thinking over his pet carefully. So she had been apprehended by badland slavers at one point? How did she escape? And most relevant, could she escape _here_ in a similar manner? He doubted it; his home world's forces were much more serious than those on Earth. Escaping from the vermin out in the wild was an entirely different matter than running away from him. _No,_ he assured himself, _she is trapped here._

He reached forward and ran the faucet in his sink, setting her down on the counter and again locking eyes with the small human. She sat on her haunches, pulling her knees under her chin and wrapping her arms around herself. She looked so small. _And she is, such a runt._

And then suddenly he found himself questioning everything about this whole endeavor: why did he even _want_ such a runt? She was mouthy, unruly, and disgusting. What use did he have for her? What _really_ drove him to that pet shop just a few days ago? And what kept him from just drowning her irritating comebacks down a waste disposal as the shop owner had suggested?

He reached forward, again testing her limits as he brushed down her back. She held his gaze defiantly as she scooted out of the reach of the finger. His hand rested on the counter behind her, his thoughtful face unchanging. Her small rebellions seemed to be bothering him less and less.

When the sink was full enough for her bath he began to toy her clothes off, starting with her shirt. She was again somewhat bashful but got over it quickly, allowing his fingers to gently pull the fabric over her head and off her arms. The limbs shot back down to cover herself as soon as she was loose from the garment, though.

She stood up and decided she would take care of her own pants, pulling her underwear off in the same motion. He cocked his head, actually giving her an appropriate once-over. The words slipped out before he could stop them. "I'm sure your own race finds you rather attractive, even when your thin protoform clings to your subframe."

She had turned to the tub but spun her head around, mouth open in shock. "Why, I should-" But she never got the chance to finish her retort as his digit pushed her over the lip of the sink.

He smiled, holding a hand in the water for her to perch upon. She swam with a limp, only her uninjured shoulder working. She muttered with each stroke, crawling onto the warm armor and crossing her arms. He then began his task, scrubbing away the day's filth from her skin and hair, watching her behavior.

He was seeing improvement in his pet, though. She sat obediently and unafraid, letting him even touch her face and wipe over her stomach, something she had had aversions too her first bathing. And then, he suddenly realized why: a thin scar over her lower abdomen, right above her naval, was almost impossible to see amongst the various cuts and scraps she had earned over the years in her wild adventures. She didn't let him linger there long though when she saw his cryptic face. "Give me some soap for my hair," she demanded, holding her hands out. He started a bit, then reached for the cleaning solution, squeezing a drop into her palms. It spilled out over the edges of her spindly pruning fingers.

She apparently didn't want him to touch her dreadlocks, massaging the soap into her scalp around the tangled ropes with her one good arm. He watched her close her eyes, enjoying her own ministrations. Her arms, one up in the air and open for him to see, were like those of a tree in famine, knobby elbows and comparatively enormous hands. Her skin was scarred here too, and flaked in places.

He eventually lifted a handful of water and let it slide over her head, and she sputtered only slightly at the intrusion before sighing. She titled her scalp up, smoothing her hands over her hair as the water carried the suds away. When the flow stopped, she cracked her eyes open, giving him a sleepy sideways glance. So large and sunken they were, he almost believed for a moment that she was a ghost.

He reached for a towel, suddenly uncomfortable with the all this evidence of her and what she had been through.

* * *

She slept with the cage open again that night, waiting until the bathroom door closed before she cracked her eyes open. She was wide awake, and knew she wouldn't be getting to sleep anytime soon.

She propped up with her good arm and looked around in the darkness. Her stomach was full and the unknown of Darkmount called her. She was still wary after her last punishment from wandering off, though, so stayed where she was, staring up at the ceiling of her cage.

Home called sweetly, but she didn't quite know why. What good memories did she ever have there? None, she could recall. What stood out was slavers and starvation, staring longingly into energon mining camps whenever she got brave enough to get close. She could _smell_ the food over the scent of the fuel, and it was almost powerful enough to draw her towards the gates to surrender to the guards a time or two. And despite all of her struggle, she had been captured, regardless. Sent to the heart of her planet's misery, in fact.

And now, warm and well fed, she could not help but feel confused. Her heart ached for things she had never experienced and places she felt she had never seen — or had she? And that question lulled her to sleep, making her rest fitful and the night endless.

What was she going to do?


	5. All That Is Dread-full

As soon as she woke she knew something was out of order. She crawled up, pushing her dreads behind her ears as she listened, giving the air a quick sniff. She could not smell the distinctive stale aroma of her canned foods, and could not hear the rumbles of Megatron moving about in the other rooms. It was the first time she felt truly alone while here.

Crawling out from her cage, she stood straight and swiveled her head. Taking in the bathroom, she suddenly realized that what was so wrong was the time: it felt much later in the day than when she woke up yesterday, perhaps already four or five hours into the daytime. She was surprised Megatron didn't even come jostle her cage or holler at her to get ready by now. And, due to his apparent absence, she wondered if he had simply left her in Darkmount all by herself.

She guessed it wouldn't be too far of a stretch - he was technically a two-minute walk away. Perhaps he had programmed his security system to notify him of when she left the premise. She frowned; finally away from the tyrant, but still not out of his reach.

With those thoughts, she plopped back down onto the countertop. She eyed a can for a moment then took it in her good hand, eyeing it with a grumble. She would much rather starve than eat more of the processed slop, but knew she could eat her share now or when Megatron returned home have it and five times more forced down her throat.

Cracking the can open, she didn't even bother giving it a speculative sniff and shoved a finger full past her lips, smacking loudly as she worked the mush into a slimy paste and swallowed. _I've got run of the place, anyways,_ she thought, _so why not?_

She got a few more mouthfuls in before she felt slight tremors, the pattern soft and gentle, and vaguely familiar. She had just recently felt these steps but was uncertain who it actually was.

Coming around the corner was the feminine figure of Rosegold. She stood in the doorway, smiling brightly when she caught sight of Tweety. "So your awake."

The air suddenly changed, and Tweety felt the ecstasy in Rosegold's eyes filling her own up as well. The crook of the maid's smile was a tad bit mischievous, and she held her hands in front of her perhaps a bit too innocently. "Are you ready to go shopping?" She said just a few decibels lower than was necessary.

Tweety grinned, genuine delight appearing on her face. "Yes."

* * *

Rosegold waited patiently for Tweety to get ready, leaving to give the mansion one final sweep before they left. Tweety could not help but watch the way this young maid was so attentive, and seemingly unafraid of her powerful employer. Respect was slowly growing towards her unlikely new friend. Most Cybertronians she had ever made acquaintance with had been met with an upturned nose, or perhaps even smoldering eyes. But Rosegold seemed so different to Tweety, and she had to wonder why.

When they stepped out of Decepticon Command - Tweety noticing how the maid seemed to have avoided the noisy conference room - the maid took a long inhale, her golden optics flicking to and fro and her head darting around the open space. "So, where to first, my mistress?"

Tweety was turning to face the femme to discuss the town's layout before she started, halting momentarily. When she did turn her eyes were a tad incredulous. _"My mistress?_ You do know that I'm just a pet and not the duchess of Megatron's estate, don't you?"

She knew that some people might have been offended by her patronizing and somewhat irritated tone. But the bright femme merely smiled, tilting her head to the side playfully. "Oh, but I like to pretend, y'know? Though Tweety is an interesting name, even for a human, I think _mistress_ brings us into a world full of scheming politicians and lords and ladies, drama-filled action… Oh it just makes me giddy thinking about it!"

"So you… Like Victorian era culture?" Tweety twisted a dread in her hand as she inquired.

"Yes! I do." Rosegold smiled even brighter, her optics flooding with unadulterated glee as she set off down the street.

"But you do know that we are already live in a world full of scheming politicians who definitely lord over everyone and everything their unlimited power?"

The femme's face faltered slightly, but not her gait, and the expression changed for merely a moment before her face was back to it's normal shining self. She looked down at Tweety with a small smile. "That's why I think it's most important to pretend, _my mistress."_

Tweety shot a half-hearted smile back to the maid. But the femme's face darkened just a tad, sending her a careful message. "But, for your sake, my lady, do not disturb the public's so carefully curated opinion. Especially so close to our beloved masters."

* * *

The human had never been to the bustling street markets of Iacon's downtown. She had never seen anything of downtown, actually. The shipment she was sent from Earth in was taken to a warehouse at the Transport Sector, where also lay a permanent space station with the space-bridge and ship docks. She awoke briefly when they had arrived, and when she regained consciousness again after being sedated once more, she was in the pet shop.

The thoughts gave her some violent shivers that she was careful to conceal from Rosegold. They had already been to the pet store and acquired her some basic clothes and supplies, but it appears the maid was given further instruction that Tweety hadn't heard. They hadn't spoken since they left the higher-class shopping centers, but the girl hadn't felt the need to ask where the maid was taking her. She sat in her palm relaxed, completely at ease with the femme.

The street market was not necessarily calming, either, which spoke more volumes of Tweety's trust in Rosegold. Cybertronians shouted native and foreign tongues alike, French, Iaconian, Japanese, Kaonite, Bulgarian, and more being launched into the shifting air of the streets. Tweety knew that many earth-stationed Decepticons had adopted favorite languages and dialects while in their time at war, and the habits were eagerly mimicked by the public. _Those poor, brainwashed refugees,_ she almost spoke aloud, but remembered Rosegold's sage advice at the last moment. _Serving the very people who destroyed their planet and mine in the first place._

Her attention was returned to Rosegold when she suddenly stopped, a small clamor just beginning to be distinct over the rest of the market's noise. She squinted, listening, and suddenly her eyes widened, and she turned back towards the way they came. "We will take another route. It will be quicker."

Tweety sat up, grabbing ahold of her thumb. "Rosie? What's going on?"

The young maid barely flicked her optics to the girl before returning to the road ahead. Her lips were smiling, but her eyes still looked spooked. "Nothing. It will just be quicker if-"

"Rosegold. What's going on? I saw your fa-"

But Tweety didn't get to finish. Both were startled by the onrushing crowds coming towards them, pushing them backwards as the flow in the street suddenly changed. No longer were there various channels and currents of walkers, only one single river, and the femme risked getting trampled if she didn't follow the same course. So, with a grimace, she did, her eyes still darting over tall mechs and exuberant femmes as she tried to find a way out.

She jumped and skipped to the sides, trying to head for alleyways, but in a matter of moments the spectacle drawing the citizens was within proper earshot. Tweety heard cursing in an old Iaconian dialect, punctuated by the lower shouts and groans of a distinctly robotic voice. In fact, they - or perhaps even _it,_ she wasn't even sure - weren't even speaking a language she had ever heard. Beeps, whines and low whistles occasionally cried out, occasionally an angry sounding gurgle being met with more of the curses.

She and Rosegold stopped near the edge of the crowd, pushed forward by eager onlookers. Some were calling for 'the slave to learn his lesson' and for someone to 'hit harder!' But overall, the crowd was suddenly covered by a blanket of intense quiet, everyone watching the small yellow mech with tattered Autobot insignias being beaten by a shop keeper.

Tweety could not help but being transfixed. Her view was slightly disrupted by a shorter mech standing in front of Rosegold, but the human slid forward over her palm to see the Autobot fully. A morbid fascination forced her to see, to know; she had always heard of the Autobot slaves, but had never seen them with her own eyes.

The shopkeeper was a burly man, towering over the yellow mech and holding his fists clenched, spitting out insults and reprimands in rapid fire succession. The Autobot, though laying on the ground, would just once in a while antagonize his master further, leading to another round of punishment. She knew what neither of them were saying in their respective languages, but she knew something in the masked face of the yellow soldier's countenance was… off.

Her face twisted and she stared for the longest period of time, no longer interested in their duel but rather just the young Autobot himself. Something was painstakingly familiar about the bot, and she soaked up as much of him as possible, for she knew Rosegold would soon come out of her horror-induced stupor and take them from here. She now knew why she had turned around so quickly - she had not wanted Tweety to see another slave beaten, and even though she appreciated her intentions, it actually felt unnecessary. It was nothing she had not seen before; merely different people in a different place.

And then, when the shopkeeper began regarding the crowd in some massive gesture, the Autobot turned to follow his gaze. And that was when his and Tweety's optics met. His lingered as hers did, with the same puzzled expression until something in those bright blue orbs clicked. They brightened intensely as the man turned back to him with his fists raised for a strike, screaming incomprehensibly. And they were still locked with hers when she swore she saw a smile in them before he was assaulted by his master yet again.

Fist connected with helm, and suddenly, everything was deathly quiet when the yellow mech slumped to the floor and didn't move. Tweety held her breath, but waited. The shopkeeper almost looked embarrassed as the same expressions rippled across the surrounding crowds. He leaned down, checking his pulse, and his optics lit up brightly before settling back down to their neutral yellow, a hue similar to Rosegold's. He turned and spoke loudly in the same dialect, but the sudden release of tension in the air told Tweety that the yellow mech was in fact not dead, but merely knocked unconscious.

As the crowds began to dissipate, Rosegold's sudden movements disoriented Tweety as she rushed and shoved through the reforming tides. She didn't even meet Tweety's stare and the girl suddenly felt rude continuing to look on, so she averted her gaze and waited silently. A minute passed by after they had set off on their way again before Rosegold opened her mouth to speak.

"I am terribly sorry you had to see that," she began, and Tweety realized she had several minutes of apology ready for her human charge by the length of her inhale. "That was completely wrong for me to allow. I should have remembered that this sector would no doubt have scuffles such as that one waiting for us when we arrived - it was completely stupid of me to-"

Tweety laughed, and the maid looked down, surprised. "Y-you really think it… like, bothered me that bad?" The girl's voice was quiet, and she seemed unsure what to say by her darting eyes and fiddling fingers. "I… I've seen that before. I don't come from a nice place, Rosie. You don't need to feel so bad."

The maid's eyes looked confused and curious while her expression remained polite, but Tweety knew she was brimming with questions. And she continued to let her brim, making no move to explain.

The maid eventually let go of her curiosities, settling for a light huff and moving the conversation on. "Do you know why we came here in the first place, my mistress?"

The almost rolled her eyes at the maid's continued use of Victorian honorifics, but simply settled back into her palm once more with a sigh. She scratched around her dreadlocks for a moment before shaking her head in the negatory. "Nope, I don't."

Suddenly removing their persons from the main flow of shoppers, she stepped up to a small vendor's stall gingerly. "Pickup for Rosegold, please sir." The man behind the counter eyed her momentarily, then his eyes settled on Tweety. Rosegold, smiling nonchalantly, set the girl upon her shoulder for the man to have a better view. He pursed his lips, rising out of his chair and setting the paper he had been reading aside. Hobbling forward, he never took his eyes off Tweety, but the gaze was not intense: merely curious, almost cynical enough to be inspecting. He set his arm on the counters for support and watched for a few more moments. Tweety was so nervous under his optics that she didn't even have the mind to try and see what he pulled from under the counter and set in front of Rosegold - she kept his gaze, and he kept her's.

The mech finally huffed slightly, bending his head down and meeting his arm halfway so the servo could adjust his glasses. Looking back up, he nodded Rosegold off, returning to his chair. And then the mech spoke for the first time, a gravely and low sound. "Tell Megatron he got himself a feisty one, for sure."

Rosegold didn't reply, but smirked as she turned away, once more molding into the flow of pedestrians. Tweety looked back over her shoulder until Rosegold gently nudged her with an open palm, and the human slid down into it.

"What was that about?" Tweety finally asked, staring up at Rosegold.

"Oh, he's just an old friend." The maid shrugged. "He has a bit of history with Megatron, as far as I know. He does lots of… special requests for the Lord Protector."

"… Like what?" Tweety did not miss the strange tone of promise in Rosegold's last words. And the femme caught onto her strange tone of suspicion as well, optics sliding down to leer mischievously at Tweety.

"Why, just a collar of sorts for the young mistress, is all."

Tweety paused, then groaned aloud. But somehow, the maid's gentle goads were somewhat comforting in this characteristically uncomfortable development. Tweety reflected on why that was so as the maid began to gently unwrap the package, pulling out a small silver-toned slave bracelet, thick chain tinkling gently with the sways of Rosegold's gait. She let it fall into Tweety's open palms, and the girl began inspecting the bracelet absentmindedly. Thoughtful work went into the simplistic design, and she noticed on the small Decepticon insignia a small light beeped steadily. _A tracking device, no doubt,_ she grumbled just low enough to avoid Rosegold's suspicion.

Tweety avoided the inevitable of someone chasing her around trying to get it on her and began searching for the clasps without hesitance. It took her a moment to find it's designated place over her middle finger and around her wrist, but she eventually sat back to admire the shiny new piece. She will admit that if it didn't have such lewd connotations or reminded her so strongly of her enslavement, she would probably like the stylish jewelry. It used to be a very popular style in the 21st century.

And that thought made her pause. How did she know that? And why did that come to the forefront of her thought?

* * *

When they arrived home, Tweety was not amused to find that the Lord Protector had taken another short work day and had already arrived back at Darkmount. As Rosegold bowed in the foyer, Megatron's optics settled on the shiny chain Tweety thought briefly about hiding.

"I see you were successful in obtaining the necessary supplies. Good work, Rosegold. You are dismissed for the day."

"Of course, Lord Megatron. Should there be anything else you need my assistance for I am only a call away."

He nodded once, holding Tweety's gaze long after she and her purchases had been set on the coffee table and Rosegold had exited with another little bow. Megatron, finally moving towards her, released a puff of air and took in the living area appraisingly. Tweety felt herself stop breathing when he stooped suddenly and raised her chained wrist with his sharp fingers, poking and prodding at the bonds momentarily.

And then, after apparently deeming the item sufficient, a small tool suddenly appeared from his fingers. She stiffened as a small concentrated flame ignited from the tip, and began to weld the clasps shut. Permanently.

After a few beats of silence, she was the first to speak. "So this is never coming off."

He didn't pause, smiling gently. "No. It's not ever coming off."

* * *

Tweety sat atop Megatron's desk next to the working Lord Protector. It was not the office she had originally infiltrated, rather one adjoining Megstron's preferred living area. She had been wrong about Megatron leaving work early; when she asked, he simply stated that he had an appointment that he needed to meet at the castle. So, as the warlord continued to work and summarily ignored her, _she_ continued to fall deeper and deeper into what she herself would call 'chronic boredom.'

But hours later, that was remedied by a small _beep_ from the desktop, alerting Megatron to a visitor at the entrance. She watched him plug in a command and then rise from his chair, heading towards the doorway. He paused, and turned to look at her.

"Stay here." The two words were all she needed to hear to understand the warning he was conveying, and the dark promise behind it. She nodded immediately, and after contemplating for a moment and deciding it was satisfactory, he left.

She sat quietly for a few moments, and then began to wonder who he had an appointment with that would need to be met in his own home. Thinking on what little she knew of Decepticon politics from the last few days in his possession, she did not think Megatron would be one to see one of his underlings in his personal territory. Unless something had gone very, very wrong, and she hoped if just for her own sake that wasn't the case.

Her thoughts continued to circle until she heard footsteps coming back - now a pair of them. Megatron appeared in the doorway, approaching her directly and stretching out his hand. "Come, human," his tone was impatient, "we are heading to the bathroom."

"W-why?" She blurted before she could stop herself, then noted her place and stepped into his hand swiftly. He did not answer her, continuing down the hallway past his personal quarters. She was now further confused. Why would he be taking her to a bathroom, and a bathroom not his own?

When they rounded a corner into a less used hallway, it suddenly dawned on her what was likely happening as he stroked and examined her dreads through his fingers thoughtfully. And when they entered the sparsely decorated bathroom to find a human hairdresser setting up shop in a small chair, she immediately began backpedalling.

"Wh-what are we doing? I mean, a-are we… Washing my dreads?" She was afraid to even voice her _real_ concern, lest she be placing a new idea into his head for him to torture her with.

Her efforts, though, proved futile with his curt response. "No, we are cutting them."

She immediately was dumped on the counter. Scrambling away from the chair, she looked between the other human and Megatron. Megatron's reaction was predictable - his face suddenly hardened and locked in that position, smoldering eyes tracking her every movement. The human, though, was strangely calm. It was a male, perhaps in his early 30's, a blue streak running through his dark mop of hair that was styled well. His eyes followed her a bit less intensely than Megatron's, and he did not leave the chair's side. He wasn't perhaps indifferent, just unmoved by her sudden panic. She then noticed another Cybertronian sitting in the corner of the bathroom, hiding from sight, and this mech did look mildly concerned.

As this new mech sat up and began to approach, Tweety spun back to Megatron once more. "You can't cut my dreads," she began, realizing how ridiculous it sounded but continuing. "Th-they're… special. Besides, they don't require as much maintenance as normal hair anyways. Wash every few days and-"

"They are insanitary and hazardous to your health." His voice was even harder than his eyes, ground out through his razor teeth. "You _will_ have them cut. If I am lenient, I will allow them to leave a few inches near your scalp."

She shook her head wildly, the ropes swinging around as if trembling in their own dismay. "No! You can't!" Clenching her fists, she looked for the right words, searching desperately. "Y-you just can't!"

Megatron fumed, letting out a long breath. "I am growing _weary_ of dealing with your silly notions and ungrounded demands, human. I will count to _three,_ and if you are not in that chair by the time I am finished, a dislocated shoulder will be the least of your worries!"

She stood her ground, eyes shining with unspilled tears in the face of his threat. "One," he began, and she rocked back on one foot towards the chair, but stayed where she was. _"Two."_ Her lip wobbled and she bit down on it, fists clenching and unclenching as she broke out in a sweat. Just as he was sneering to growl out his final count she fell forward onto her knees, holding her hands against her face.

"Y-… you j-just _can't!"_ Was her final declaration, sucking in her sobs as she looked up again, arms falling in defeat.

He looked ready to squash her with his fists. Teeth bared in pure malice, he growled his next words out slowly. "And why is _that?"_

She sucked in a few breaths, eyes on the floor in contemplation, or perhaps a war with herself. She murmured briefly, then looked up, swallowing hard. "It's just…"

Taking in ragged breaths, he waited, eyes blazing. She cradled her arms against her chest, one circling the shoulder he injured absently. "I just won't have anything left. There won't be nothing left of me."

At first, the words had little effect. But with the passing of the following moments after her statement, Megatron began to relax. His expression did not change, but she saw things flickering behind his optics, his processor working hard. Finally, he pulled himself up from loom over her and pulled his own arms against his chest to mirror her own. "That does not make any sense, and I demand a better explanation."

She blinked rapidly in response, eyes darting over the countertop once more to try and find more words. She looked up, exasperated, sighing. "I've always had my hair this way. For as long as I could remember… I don't even know if it's ever been straight or short. I just…"

Silence hung over the room, and she suddenly became aware once more of the two presences behind her. She dared a quick, embarrassed glance behind her to see the human and his owner in the same state she left them: one apathetic, the other worried whether the trip here was worth it. When her gaze flicked back to Megatron, his face was different. Standing at his full height, he released a long, steady breath, his bright red optics locking onto the Cybertronian.

"Cut her ends. One or two inches at the most. Put it in a braid if you can."

The mech jolted when he realized he was being addressed, then nodded curtly. "Oh course." Then to the human: "You heard him."

And then when the hairdresser's gaze darted from the still empty chair to Tweety, all eyes were on her once more. But she was still gazing up at Megatron rather openly, mouth slightly agape. She started when she heard a gentle cough come from the hairdresser, scurrying over to the chair to sit down. She jumped when he draped a smock around her front before she could lean back, and he pulled the thick tendrils out from underneath her back.

She grimaced when she heard gentle snips, but the man was crouching to get to the ends. She relaxed at the realization, eyes locking onto the Megatron in the mirror, standing vigil near the door.

They didn't break eye contact for a long few moments. He was the one to finally look away, and she settled into her chair further. The blue streak of hair circled all around her, bobbing up and down near her feet as he went. Soon the floor was covered in little one-inch pieces of matted hair, and he swept them up with a dust pan.

* * *

It was late at night when Megatron and Tweety ventured out from Darkmount. He stopped in the offices for a few minutes and then walked out the front doors of HQ, transforming and taking off into Cybertron's brilliant night sky.

Tweety's hair had been washed and braided, the groups of tendrils forming a intricate and long weave down her head and across her back. She pulled it to the front, examining the frizzy and loose ends critically. They would mat back up soon, but for now she would keep her hair carefully collected in a knot at all times to prevent fraying or tears. She had learned over the years that dreadlocks had to be taken good care of lest in a few months time they could be ruined.

After a bath, she had been dressed in a material similar to jeans that had been on the rise in human fashion. When Rosegold had seen the pants she immediately shoved Tweety into a dressing room with several pairs, demanding they get her at least one she liked. Tweety had never worn the intricate, thick industrial knit before, and had only seen it in the occasional glimpse of magazines and billboards. Her pair was a dark maroon color, and Rosegold had picked out a flowing multicolored top to go with it. Being in the badlands had given Tweety some rather tough calluses in regards to fashion, and thus she wasn't necessarily displeased with the outfit, but didn't pay much mind when Megatron threw it at her and told her to put it on.

She sat in the cabin and fiddled with her thumbs, looking out the window on occasion to see Cybertron's active nightlife. It was a light show down below, restaurants and clubs in a constant flow of moving patrons. She frowned, looking back up to stare at the console. She was never quite sure where to look when speaking to Megatron in his alt mode.

"Where are we going?" She asked, her feet shuffling together. He was quiet, but she detected it was a thinking quiet by the gentle shift in the thrum of his systems.

He hummed, dipping into a slight turn. "You appeared to have forgotten how to address me over the course of your outing with Rosegold, little human. It makes me wonder, what kind of influence does she have on you?"

Startled by the sudden accusation, Tweety fumbled for words for a few moments. "N-no! It's not her fault! I just… forgot… Master."

Silence ensued, and Tweety felt incredibly trapped inside the jet. His tone was strangely flat when he spoke next. "Make sure that you don't again."

She never got the chance to answer when he dove for the surface, transforming atop a larger building. A concierge was waiting, dipping into a deep bow after Megatron had stood upright. "All Hail Megatron, my lord! Welcome to the Spiral Crown. If you would please follow me, I will lead you to the dining room."

Letting the small mech get a small head start, Megatron followed after him at a leisure pace, setting Tweety atop his shoulder. Down a spiral staircase they went, into the depths of the building.

She noted in sincere interest the decor of the establishment: it was apparently a hotel, a large water feature and light show glowing dimly off of Megatron's silver armor, which she now noticed he had at some point polished very recently. Exotic flowers from Earth hung from chandeliers and candelabras, across railings and over supporting beams and rafters. She noted that the staircase they were descending appeared, from a glance, to mimic that of a crown's essence - jewels were set in peaking points, pearls, rubies, emeralds and even diamonds glittering in the dancing lights. Suddenly Tweety felt a rush of heat to her cheeks as her throat tightened in a bout of rage. Why was this not on earth, in the hands of the humans who no doubt dug it up?

She was soon pulled from her stewing when the small mech led them onto an upper floor, and she began to hear somewhat familiar voices. Down a large corridor, the hotel mech opened large double doors, revealing the mechs and femmes of Decepticon Command in the midst of a revelry.

Energon flowed freely in the room, the large dining table in the center almost abandoned this far into the night. She felt Megatron pause at the entrance before entering, surveying the progress of the festivities before deeming it suitable to enter. She noted drawn curtains over small alcoves along the room's walls, and sly, scantily clad femmes draped across Decepticon's laps. Their first destination, apparently, was Starscream and his trine, the Air Commander noticing Megatron's approach when he was just a few strides away.

"Ah! Lord Megatron, how pleased we are that you made it," the intoxicated mech smiled, wings flaring as he stood and sauntered towards Megatron, all provocative swagger and nothing of the testy mech he had been yesterday. "We were beginning to worry."

As he was staring at the pout creeping ever closer to his face, Megatron suddenly found another one of Starscream's seekers at his elbow with a drink. After a brief moment of thought he took it, downing it nearly in one gulp. He sloshed it around his denta briefly, swallowing with a slight frown. "Is this all they can come up with for the highest of Decepticon ranks?"

"I know, this one's so far been a drag." Starscream commented, turning to stand next to Megatron as he gave the room a quick sweep. "But there's lots of it. And it's been a while since we've seen this many femmes sent up. _Anyways,_ we haven't heard from Shockwave, and Soundwave arrived a while ago but seemed to disappear shortly after. So I guess _I'm_ the only officer to have attended this dedicated soirée. Isn't that interesting?"

Megatron did not respond, looking out at the quickly accelerating debauchery and not making a sound. "Where are we keeping the pets?"

Starscream paused, blinking absently, then began to give Megatron's person a closer inspection. Leaning in front of his broad chest to see his other shoulder, he made a silent 'ah' with his mouth, returning upright. "It's at the other end - we shoved them in a room a few hours ago. I'm pretty sure they put a sign on it."

And then Megatron was off, leaving Starscream without another word. Tweety was jostled by the sudden movement, grabbing onto him with her good arm. He crossed the room in a matter of moments it seemed, swinging open a door with a strung-up sign hanging across the doorknob. She didn't get the chance to read what it said, but it appeared to be a barely legible drunken scrawl.

It was much quieter in the room, and across the lounge area ten or so small figures froze. Megatron bent down, deposited Tweety on the floor, and then shut the door behind him. She looked around, trying to find familiar faces and coming up with four, but only one friendly.

Darren approached her quickly, eyes alight with interest and gracing her with a big grin. She could not help but note the glares sent from the trio led by Marcus - it was so intense she could see it over the copious amounts of glitter and fluff adorning his person. Darren pulled her into a hug suddenly, and she stiffened, unsure of what to do with the contact. He pulled out of it quickly, looking embarrassed and apologetic. "U-uh sorry, I just… well, I'm glad to see you. It was getting kinda tense in here." He laughed.

She gave him a small half-smile, and she took him in. His dark hair was styled up with gel, and he wore a pair of black glasses that brought out the brown in his eyes. He wore light-washed jeans that could only be described as vintage, the style pre-dating the cyberformation of North America. A tweed jacket hung over a simple turtleneck, and she suddenly felt underdressed. He made the outfit look so sophisticated it was unreal.

She smiled bigger this time, hiding the blush on her face that she didn't quite understand. He grinned back, sending a look over his shoulder at the other humans. "So, what are you doing here? Megatron never comes to the dedicatees."

"The 'dedicatees?'" She parroted.

"Yeah, that's what this whole thing is, actually." His British accent suddenly seemed more pronounced, and she didn't know if it was the outfit or just his mood. Or, perhaps both. "The big business on Cybertron hosts these parties for Command in hopes that it will get them some perks of some kind from the higher ups. I don't know when they all started doing it or why, but they were long established before any humans came to Cybertron."

He began walking back towards the larger group, and Tweet followed. "But it's strange, Megatron coming. He never attends these things. He just up and did it?"

"Just… came here." Tweety said, trying to think through the evening. "Why does he never come?"

"Just doesn't. He never has since I've been here." Darren paused in his walk, raising a hand to his chin in thought. "Honestly, I've asked Soundwave, and he's told me to mind my own business, in so many words. It's strange, huh? For winning the war and making everyone shout that whole 'Hail Megatron' nonsense, he sure doesn't get out to actually soak up the limelight much. I've never understood it."

Tweety didn't think on Darren's words much at that moment. It seemed as if Marcus, Poppy, Trystan and a group of other pets had somehow teleported in front of them, so she stored the conversation away to analyze later.

She mentally braced herself for Marcus' coming rant, watching the boy's progressive swagger carry him the last few steps to her. His sneer was palatable underneath his eye and lip liner. He wore a flowing yellow and white bodysuit that did not go past his upper thigh, bio-lit and diamond encrusted brooches holding the layering fabrics in place. His lashes practically glowed with a strange sticky substance, flicking flecks of light across his grey eyes with his every blink. Tweety would have been surprised if this wasn't the pinnacle of this century's fashion, but she assumed that Starscream would want his pet to portray the height of wealth and authority. Thus, she gave him a lazy blink, her eyes moving discreetly over his bedecked person.

"So," the teenager began, swishing to a stop as he cocked his hip in what appeared to be a flirtatious maneuver, showing just a bit more leg, "Megatron's showed. What a surprise. And he brought the badlander. I'm very interested he made two publicity stunts in one outing. So, tell me, badlander, what goes on in that little castle of his? Does he make sure to train you real, _real_ good before he takes you out? Maybe a beating here or there to keep the idea of punishment fresh in that Neanderthal noggin, hmm?"

His sickly sweet tones in his pubescent voice just about drove Tweety over the edge, and she could do nothing but snarl and fume silently for several moments. And as her thoughts unclouded with sharp clarity in her mounting anger, her reply was interrupted by Darren's arm around her shoulders.

"I'm sure you would know about training, Marcus, considering all that dancing that was taught to you." And Tweety watched with fascination as the grinning, sparkling boy gave sudden pause. His attention was pulled from Tweety's low growls and onto Darren's face - his eyes flicked absently, but his frozen grin told a different story.

"It's really admirable how hard you've practiced. I'm sure you make your master very, very pleased." Darren's voice was like ice, and she suddenly felt that an unspoken conversation was happening behind all these words. Marcus stayed frozen for a few more seconds, then made some strange goggling expression at Darren, flicking his eyes underneath his gelled eyelashes.

"Well, we all do what we can, don't we?" And the last three words were practically hurled at the dark headed Britain: "It's our _job._" And with that, he was done, sashaying back the way he came with his troop in pursuit.

Tweety was silent for a few more moments, then Darren and her locked stares. His arm was still around her, the stance undeniably possessive. She pulled out from under his embrace and he returned the arm to his side quickly, shuffling awkwardly as she stared at his visage. He could not avoid her intense stare, and soon he was asking out loud: "What?"

Her face was unreadable, but she shifted her weight to one foot and crossed her arms before she spoke. "I think I'm the person that should be asking that, actually. Something like, 'what was that?'"

If he could get more still, he did. Something in his eyes said he was still processing what she said even as he repeated, "What?"

She didn't move, her thick braid hanging across her shoulder and crowding her face. "Do you think that's going to stop him? You butting in every time he launches at me? Listen, don't get me wrong, I appreciate what you're trying to do. But it isn't helping. You said that the pets' hierarchy was dictated mostly by the rank of their masters, and if that's the case, I'm at the top. I just need to prove it."

And here, she leaned marginally closer, her face unfeeling. "But that's not going to happen even if _you_ don't respect me."

He started, sputtering for a moment before turning his head away and then facing her again. "Okay, I get the part about proving yourself. That makes sense. But I don't respect you? Don't get _me_ wrong, I appreciate what _your_ trying to say, but… what? I'm the chap who's been sticking my head out for you, and no one else here is doing that." He paused, sighing, and when he looked back she noticed genuine hurt in his eyes. "How in the world could I _not_ respect you?"

She paused, pursing her lips ever so slightly before forcing them into a line again. "Because," and here she began to turn, pushing the braid back over her shoulder to hang low on her back, "for all the jabs you took at Bitter Glitter, you didn't even bother to tell him my name wasn't 'badlander.'"

The silence behind her as she walked away made her stomach slowly drop.

* * *

She wasn't in Darkmount, and that much she knew. Looking at her hands, she felt immediately sick; her stomach rolled and wailed, demanding to look away from the bleeding but numb stumps of her fingers. She grimaced, wondering where she attained those wounds, and heard the single-toned notes of a piano calling out. The sound was sudden, a melody that she felt the mangled fingers twitching to automatically. It was as if she was the one playing the piece.

But as her mind wandered in this strangely blank space things began to change. The face of the Autobot scout was everywhere she turned, in a building there, a field here, scenes of his happy face and laughter coming to her in rapid fire. Real, fresh tears poured down her cheeks against her will, baffling her. She reached up to wipe at her face with now pristine hands. A dull glow appeared somewhere in front of her, and just as she turned her focus from her wet hands to it, it was already gone.

She spun in place, panicked breaths as she took in the sights and smells and sounds that she swore were not hers - or were they? Feelings and emotions rushed across her body and through her chest and stomach. She began backing up when arms suddenly gripped her shoulders. She shrugged them off, jumping away. She spun around to be met by an instant onslaught of voices. She reached up to shut her ears with her hands, and now bandages covered them. They bled through rapidly, the sticky substance leaking into her hair and her cupped ears. She stumbled to the ground, her head hurting, her eyes squeezed shut as a single voice rose through the terrifying cacophony with unnatural clarity.

_You have to fix this, Tweety. We are all counting on you._

She opened her eyes at the commanding baritone to see Earth's face terraformed, metal glazing over the bodies beside her and entrapping them in an airless vacuum. Not even a sound was heard from the houses, bodies frozen still in the roads and the faint whistle of air the only sound.

And when she tried to inhale a breath, she realized she was covered in metal too.

* * *

She bolted from her spread of blankets, gasping out something between a sob and a scream. She slapped her hands over her mouth, realizing the hour was still quite early in the dark bathroom. Her hands met wetness against her cheeks, and her eyes were swollen and slick.

She then checked her hands, the images of the mutilated appendages too real to dismiss easily. Her hands were fine, though, just as she left them before bed. She had always found how unblemished her hands were strange. She had more scars on her legs and arms than her hands, despite how much more contact they had with the world than the rest of her body. But she didn't spare this too much thought at the moment - she felt her breaths hitch again, and berated herself for being so overcome with emotion due to a simple strange nightmare.

She calmed herself enough to lay back down in the pile, and never noticed Megatron standing in the shadow of the doorway, watching intently.


	6. A Drunk Buckethead

Weeks had passed since the night of the dream, and Tweety still had not figured out what the imagery and voices meant. The dreams had not stopped, either - less volatile now, perhaps, and fleeting to her memory, but they still hung around in her sleep. The baritone still spoke to her in hushed whispers, her hands still were bloodied, and the Autobot scout's face was everywhere in her dreamscape. And when did she find out he was a scout? Something just _told_ her that was true, and she did not question it. All of the dreams gave her the vaguest sense of remembering, as if these were not fabrications but actual events. Part of her demanded to know more, but some reason, some fear lying low in her psyche told her not to dig too deep.

These thoughts occupied her as she sat atop Megatron's shoulder one late afternoon stroll through the richer sectors of Iacon. This had been the first time she had seen him out since coming to live with him, but she didn't pay much mind to the how or why. She was rather tired from the long day at Command, and she had satisfied her curiosity by thinking that Megatron had been tired of Starscream's rambunctious nature, too.

Her relationship with Megatron had… perhaps _stabilized_ in the past few days since the party. He seemed relaxed, though had an attentive interest in her, as well. He never forthright asked questions, but it seemed that ever since the dreams had begun he appeared almost concerned. She very soon realized that he might have overheard her that first night, and maybe even the nights afterward. After she had recognized the real danger, she suddenly wondered why she considered it a danger. Why would he care if she was having strange dreams about a Autobot slave? And then it hit her full on: she was having dreams about an _Autobot slave._

Here she was, a new acquisition to Megatron's household, straight from the badlands, dreaming about Autobots and rebelling every waking moment - and every dreaming moment, from Megatron's perspective. Perhaps concern wasn't concern, perhaps it was _suspicion._ And that was when she found the feeling of dread creeping back over her that she had almost shook of since she began staying here. It settled in firmly, and lead to more distance between her and the warlord.

And so, after these developments had occurred in the past couple of days, Tweety and Megatron had been spending their time together in a caustically quiet lull. It could be called quiet because they rarely spoke, and it could be called a lull because never once had they had an argument. It seemed as if the peace was by some mutual personal concern. But, nevertheless, it was still caustic because it seemed every moment they spent in quiet, something was brimming.

Tweety reflected over these realities as Megatron walked. She had long grown used to the hurriedly parting sea of mechs and femmes in front of Megatron. The minutes ticked by as the crowds around them fell hushed and crooned as Lord Megatron walked past. She heard the Cybertronian's whispers even above the din.

"Is it really him?"

"What a rare sight. Look, kids!"

"And so the Lord Protectorate crawls from his castle."

"Not something you see everyday."

If the hushed tones did not escape her notice, she knew they didn't pass Megatron's. But the warlord made no visible sign of noting them - on he walked, his strides devouring the pavement and his optics flashing over the cityscape indifferently.

Vendor's shouts grew in fever when Megatron passed, but he never looked twice their way. Only when a lone mech stood in his path did he stop, gazing down at the rusted paint with a gentle curl of his lip.

"Watch yourself, citizen. Do you not know who stands before you?"

His voice boomed menacingly; several mechs turned, and femmes clutched their creations closer. The vicinity was suddenly quiet, a small circle forming around the spectacle. A knot formed in Tweety's stomach. She felt something was about to happen.

And right she was when the city mech did not back away, moving forward. "Forgive me, Lord Megatron, Protector of Earth and Cybertron. But seeing you in the public's presence is not a common occurrence, one I took as a sign. I believe the fates have made our paths cross today."

Tweety leaned forward discreetly and looked at Megatron's expression. His eyes flashed when the mech spoke of signs and destiny - it was common knowledge the High Lord was a firmly unreligious mech, and even the speech of Primus and his followers had been banned since the establishment of Decepticon rule. To even hint at it in the presence of the Lord Protector was almost stupidly brave. And so, Tweety slid her gaze over to the street mech. He was obviously poor. Tattered armor hung low on his thinning protoform, his optics dim with waning fuel reserves. He stood calmly, though, respectfully, but not at all as most held themselves in the audience of the Lord and Master of Cybertron.

He shuffled slightly, then continued speaking. "I approach you, m'lord, to entreat your ear. I have two young femme creations, and without their mother to help support them, I fear for their lives. Our tax collector has taken the last of our money, due to overdue filing and-"

"And you expect me to give it back?" The grey mech drawled, towering over the small street mech. It stopped the small mech momentarily, but it did not phase him long.

"Yes, I do." That hung in the air for a few moments as Megatron's eyes continued to simmer degree by degree. The street mech did not notice or did not care, continuing on. "We have lost our house. My neighbor is about to loose his." And here he began to turn to the crowd, openly addressing them as well. "And why? Because Cybertron is being put under a strain that it is not ready to bear. The market is heavily fined for not having permits, the common man is robbed by the enforcers! The system is-"

"Just as it should be." Megatron interrupted once more, and by the look on his face, for the final time. He turned to some enforcers wearing the purple and red Deception stripes standing at the nearest street corner. "You there! Arrest this heretic."

And then, chaos descended. Shouts went out from the crowd as the mech was apprehended almost instantaneously. Strangely enough, though, Tweety noticed how most stayed hinged to the spot they stood, and the complaints were peppered with agreements with Megatron. Before she knew it, the street mech was handcuffed and almost out of sight, and Megatron took one step forward before turning to regard the shook up crowd.

"The war did not end with the Autobot's - it simply began a new phase. Now, my Decepticon's do not fight against soldiers, nor Senate. They battle with hearsay, with hypocrites, with thieves. There is no room in the new Cybertron for excuses, no room for those that are not willing to sacrifice. We will _all_ make sacrifices, just as I have and as my Decepticons have for the sake of our planet."

"To have your home once again, is that too much to ask?" Letting that question hang momentarily, his optics brightened with passion she couldn't know was real or not. She got one last look of the eyes of a small youngling looking straight at her before Megatron turned and left, the wake rippling around him once more.

* * *

"What happened?"

That was the first question they were greeted with upon returning to Headquarters. Megatron sighed, wishing he had simply flown to the flight deck above Darkmount instead of walking through the office halls. He flicked a look towards Starscream, who was flanked by several of his seekers and Soundwave. Shockwave stood off to the side, his lone optic dim with apprehension for the brewing storm within the warlord.

At least, that's what had always been expected at the first sign of uprising in Cybertron's budding populace since the Energon riots. But the High Lord enjoyed keeping his officers on their pedes, so opted for a slight glare towards Starscream and a nice, long stride to carry him broodily towards the command center. Soundwave was the quickest to recover, his slight footsteps following behind closely. Then it was Shockwave and shortly after Starscream. They were quiet until they were in a private conference room adjoining the command center.

And still it stayed quiet until Megatron was comfortable in his seat. And longer so as the officers took their places at the table too, at Megatron's gesture. The grey mech noted that Tweety still sat on his shoulder, and acting on a whim, he picked her up and placed her on the table. She responded to the sudden change minimally, something that gave him a gentle smile. The femme observed her surroundings carefully, then looked back to him. She gave Soundwave a quick glance then sat cross-legged on the tabletop facing her master, observing him as the rest of the assembled did.

Megatron signed deeply, leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms behind his head. Staring at a fixed point on the ceiling, he finally spoke. "What do you know?"

Starscream jumped in immediately. "W-well, that a group of enforcers showed up with a handcuffed mech they said you told them to arrest. It was nigh impossible to get much more out of them, trigger happy loons so keen on getting the filth behind bars. So? What happened?"

Megatron shrugged absently, then stood, pacing against the wall calmly. "The heretic caused a disturbance, in front of me, nonetheless. What would you have done, Starscream?"

The edge in his last sentence had the Air Commander pausing just briefly enough for Shockwave to interject. "What of the crowds, m'lord? What was their response?"

"… Measured." Megatron replied thoughtfully, as if just hearing of it himself. "Some were even shouting for him to be imprisoned - but no one assisted or interfered. Tweety, how did you see their response?"

It took everyone else, Tweety included, a moment to realize he had really asked for her input. Starscream looked a bit too stunned to really complain, and Shockwave turned to stare at Tweety blankly, a light behind his optic showing his interest. Soundwave, as usual, was unreadable behind his mask. And the girl stuttered for a few moments until everyone had their attention focused fully on her.

Clearing her throat, she thought for a moment. "It was… mixed." She offered. "Half of the crowd seemed upset, and the other half was upset at that half. It was…"

She wanted to say strange but trailed off here, as if with no more words to say. Megatron stood still in thought for a moment, optics smoldering. The room watched him closely until he huffed angrily, fisted hands clenching. "I want that mech executed. _Quietly,_ if need be. But he needs to go."

"A common rabble, Lord Megatron?" Starscream whined, Thundercracker, who was standing up towards the back room, watching his trine leader with an intensity unmatched. Tweety noted this with curiosity, as if the usually stoic and rational mech was trying to bore holes into the back of his commander's helm. "Why bother messing with him? Why bother even arresting him at _all?_ This is unusual of you, m'lord," and here he lifted sharpened claws to examine them primly, letting his words roll into a drawl. "Are you feeling _well?_"

Megatron almost looked tempted to seethe in response. But he eventually gave another angry huff, returning to his pacing. "How I am _feeling,_ Starscream, is questioned. Cross-examined. _Interrogated_ by my own property!" And here he spun, his optics blazing what his cannon wished to convey, by the whir that began to emanate from his firing arm. "It is unacceptable, and I will _handle_ it as I see fit." Shoulders hiked, he snatched up Tweety from the table and left the room without needing to reiterate his orders to know they would be followed.

The walk back was tense, but short due to Megatron's apparent hurry. She was quiet as he set her down on the table a bit more calmly than he had picked her up. Her eyes followed his fuming face as he left the room to enter his personal wash racks.

Megatron's mood did not change as he entered the bathroom and turned on the faucets in the shower. One thing did calm him a bit though: the sight of Tweety's cage. Should he get her a more permanent sleeping arrangement? She had been here for over a week now, and it seemed appropriate she was given her own bed and perhaps a dresser for her clothes that had been shoved in a pile on the countertop. He noted too the shampoo and other items put in somewhat organized spots atop the clear glass surface. He filed the thought away for later and stepped underneath the hot solvent, standing stock still and slowly releasing a breath. The tension in his shoulders released as they gently dipped down.

And even though he had told himself he would not think on his pet anymore - preferably not anything for the time being - she still sunk back into his thoughts. He had been thinking of her frequently recently. She came to him when his mind drifted during the more mundane meetings in Command and when he found himself sitting idle in the evenings and early mornings. The questions were numerous since the moment he had first spoken to her, but one had recently cropped up when he heard her screaming just a few nights before.

And when the sleep talking didn't stop, and he heard her feverish cries and frantic queries sounded out in her dreamscape, he had noticed a knot forming somewhere in his chest. Word by word and night by night it grew and twisted, soon crawling down into his tank and edging it's way up his throat. And when he realized what it had been, he was revolted: _concern,_ deep-seated, wearing concern for her and her nightmares. When it had first become apparent, he balked at himself. Why would he care for the girl? She was nothing but a plaything. If anything, he should be angry that she was disturbing his sleep. But the more and more he dwelt on it the more it became clear this wasn't an emotion he could easily control. Each time he tried to refute it, her scared, but oh-so-brave eyes flashed at him again for the first time. Soon, he wasn't able to combat these realities and had to concede that she was now a special property, something more than just a small trinket.

He couldn't quite bring himself to be angry with her, more irritated with his weakness than anything. And he couldn't quite bring himself to be cold towards her either. He was so utterly confused that he had settled for a rather interesting distance that she seemed keen on adopting too. They rarely spoke, and if he was honest with himself, he missed their typical banter. Tweety's noisy presence had been dying down bit by bit the longer she had stayed, and he wondered if he should really be making her feel so obligated to stay quiet.

He stayed much longer than needed under the spray of the solvent while absorbed with these thoughts. Stepping out, he went to stand underneath the heated grates on the far wall. The heat generated from the coils along the wall and floor felt good along his protoform, his armor protecting them from feeling their real scorch. He grabbed a small towel from a cabinet to wipe around inside his gyros and walked back to the living room.

Tweety had fallen asleep on top of the table, without even a towel to rest her head on. He felt a pang of guilt that he quickly rounded on and smothered, but still turned around in the bathroom to grab her a soft polishing cloth. He added some real blankets to his small shopping list he was internally writing for Rosegold when she returned tomorrow. On that list was a permanent living situation for his tired and worn human, whatever that may entail.

He sat on the couch, then gently scooped the heavily slumbering girl into the soft towel. She stirred while being transferred, but only snorted with a bit of alarm before giving his face a tired glance and snuggling into the cashmere fabric as flippantly as possible. She didn't even seem awake enough to really put some effort into being flippant, he mused, but it appeared ingrained enough for her to give him a bit of sass even when not fully conscious.

He didn't turn on the television set as he sat stroking her covered form. She seemed content with his petting, humming gently in the darkness of the dimly lit living room. He hadn't opened the drapes or unshuttered the windows when they returned home. The late afternoon light almost seemed intrusive to him; he had this familiar feeling, like he was being transported with a battalion in an aircraft carrier long, long ago, somewhere over Tarn or Polyhex, perhaps. It wasn't the setting: there was no gunfire around him, no bombs setting off above his helm nor the squeals of dying Cybertronians nor his own ragged breath. But something still had his spark beating carefully in it's chamber, patiently, like he was waiting - poised as ever - to enter the fray undaunted. He assumed that this familiar feeling was expectation, an expectation that something important was about to happen.

He picked the bundle of rags up carefully and deposited it on the cushions next to him. Standing and reaching for a few drinks, he came back and sat down carefully so as not to bounce the light human. She was still as could be in his presence, conscious of him he knew, but choosing to nap quietly. It was leaps and bounds ahead of where he had first found her. And again, he berated himself internally for letting his thoughts wander so aimlessly. Why was she so important? _Why_ was he so preoccupied with her?

He was torn away from his questions as she stirred, sitting up slowly. She gently stretched her arms upward, pushing back her wayward dreads and yawning. She seemed to almost contemplate going back to sleep after watching Megatron pour himself a glass of the mystery concoction and nurse it gently.

But, staring at her as he sipped, he seemed to decide something. Standing back up abruptly and reaching for the same cabinet, he came back with his fist cupped around something small. He opened his palm against the table and off slid with a gentle clink and slosh a human-sized, clear liquor bottle with an accompanying shot glass.

She eyed the amber-colored contents warily, sleep still heavy in her eyes. "What's-"

"Whiskey." He replied, returning to his glass. "Drink."

She gave him a sideways glance, and held it as she picked up the whiskey bottle and unscrewed the top. Why would he have gotten her whiskey? And _where_ could you even acquire human alchoholic beverages on Cybertron? Mind preoccupied, she eyed the liquid as it slid into the small shot glass. Some spilled into her lap, and she cursed, blotting it with the towel. He looked up at her swear, watching her fumble with the bottle and full shot glass.

He took the bottle from her and set it down on the tabletop. He watched her with mild amusement as she sniffed and lapped at the shot experimentally, cringing at it's flavor. He leaned back slowly, putting an arm across the back of the couch. "It's better if you down it all at once."

She looked up at him, perplexed, then took his advice with one quick motion. When the liquid met the back of her throat she coughed, hands over her mouth as she struggled to recover. His booming laugh echoed throughout the room, and she glared up at him to see his red optics practically twinkling with delight. Their gazes held for a while more, and his grin tipped a bit suggestive. "What? Too strong for you?"

His eyes darted to the lonely bottle and her's followed, seeing the challenge in his optics. She stretched across the gap between the couch and the table and snatched the bottle back up, clutching it firmly against her chest as she unscrewed the cap once more. She never left his gaze as she poured herself another shot and swung it back defiantly, jaw and throat working around the substance. A deep, cleansing breath followed, the last potent flavors of the whiskey being reminisced on as they cleared out of her senses.

He smiled, reaching for his own bottle once more and pouring himself another drink. As he sipped his slowly, optics far off, she thumbed her shot glass in thought and poured herself another. It was quiet for what felt like several minutes after that, and she was startled when he spoke.

"Days like these make me wonder if being the leader of Cybertron was really worth it in the end, human." A pause, and a drink. "If just for a moment, at least."

Tweety looked up at him with wide optics, unsure of this mannerly familiarity her master was taking up with her. "Well… You earned this. You fought for it. I guess it doesn't matter if you like it or not."

The procession of thought seemed to flow out of her mouth involuntarily, as if she was using him as a sounding board to formulate her opinion. He seemed a bit taken aback by the statement as well: he didn't meet her eyes, but his optics went wide, leaning back a bit further and grasping his knee as he rested his pede on his leg. "I suppose that's true. Although, it doesn't mean I can't _continue_ to fight for what I want."

"If that's the case, just so you know," relaxed somewhat now that she hadn't had her other shoulder dislocated yet, "you're going to be fighting your whole life."

He gave a little chuckle, speaking behind the drink he was raising to his lips. "I suppose that's true as well."

It was silent again, but he turned to face her fully with a question in his optics. "I would think a badlander would know much about fighting, wouldn't they? Especially since you eventually out maneuvered those slavers. How long did it take?"

Her eyes pinned to his, expression hard as her drink hand paused in its ascent. After a few long moments in which Megatron almost regretted the question, she finally resumed as if someone had pressed the play button on a tape. Her focus moved back to the farthest wall, she took a sip off her shot. Afterwards, "a week and a half. They didn't know how to properly tie handcuffs - took a while to realize it though, as I'm not an expert myself."

He now appeared to be sullen. Eyes downcast, he contemplated. "Your stitches still would have been fresh, even if they took your uterus on the first day."

He realized as he watched her slosh her fourth shot as she leaned back that the alcohol was what was talking. She wouldn't have been so freely offering information if she was uninhibited.

Her eyes raised to the ceiling in an exaggerated show of effort, fingers drumming against her thigh. "Mmm… I guess so. Yeah, I do recall having to dump gasoline from an old gas station on it to fix an infection. They never split though, thankfully."

"And where did you get that gash on your ribs?" He asked, his talons gesturing.

"Oh!" She sat up, again reaching for the bottle. "It was the same bastards! Rushed me when I was sleeping - barely got away. And with a present." She rolled her eyes, pulling up her shirt to see the scar. "I thought I was fine until about two weeks after it happened. It started getting really hard to breathe, I was exhausted all the time." She sat back, legs pulled into a lazy Indian sitting pose and bottle cradled behind her kneecap. "Had it since you assholes found me."

He snorted at the insult. "Well at least I don't curse at you."

"I bet you just save it until your _really_ mad," she giggled, hiccuping as she nursed another shot. "I bet Starscream's gotten it. Shockwave too - he's just too damn nosy from what I've heard. Scientist's curiosity my ass. If he could've actually decoded the relics then I would believe it."

He gave her a sideways glance, lip curling derisively. "How do you know about the relic hunt on Earth? And he wasn't even there for that." Megatron adjusted his seat a bit, staring at the ceiling. "He rejoined the front lines after the Cyberformation."

He expected some kind of negative reaction to the mention of her planet's deforestation, but she seemed to brush over it without thought as she leaned forward. "So wait - who decoded the relics exactly? It wasn't Soundwave was it? In the badlands I always used to hear that you had Optimus Prime brainwashed into doing it."

She almost expected the sadistic warlord to grin, but something strange happened. His eyes stayed stuck to the ceiling, not moving to meet her's. It took a few moments for him to properly respond, looking down at his drink and then swishing the rest of it back. "No. He wasn't brainwashed, exactly. His memory was wiped after the use of the Matrix against Unicron, back to before he was a Prime. He remembered me as Megatronus." He smiled gently, a sadness in his optics.

He appeared to become restless, standing up. "It was Soundwave who did most of the decoding." He snatched her bottle away, and even though she glared, it didn't last long. He watched her sink further and further into the towel, the light in her optics fading fast. Setting the liquor on the tabletop and gently scooping her up, he headed into the bathroom. "Tell me you've drank liquor before." He realized the potential mistake as he walked past the trash can at the dooway.

She giggled, barely coherent. "Naw. You don't need to worry. Done it a time or two when I stole it off of guys. Killer headaches in the morning, though."

He grumbled as he set her in the crate, grabbing another towel after she was settled. "Don't expect me to nurse you when you wake up."

Giggles erupted from her, curling into a small ball beneath the towel. Her response was muffled, a bit more slurred the closer she drifted to sleep. "I don't take you as the mothering type, buckethead."

He wanted to be mad at the insult that he hadn't heard in centuries, but let it slide. A smile in his eyes, he draped the towel over the crate to let the human sleep. "Go to sleep, Tweety."

"Using my name now, huh?" She was so far he barely understood, and nothing came after that but evened out breathing. He sighed, checking his internal chronometer. Not too late in the afternoon. He could perhaps catch up on reports and do some recreational reading afterwards. If Soundwave was still in Command after that, he might invite him to spar.

He was about to step out of his bathroom when something hit him like a brick wall. If he hadn't heard the derisive nickname used exclusively by the Autobot's in their catcalls since the war ended, then how did Tweety know about it?

And again, he felt the caustic lull creeping back in.


	7. Twitchy Fingers

"You can't have the cheese, right?"

"Not the cheese, the bread." Tweety's reply was terse, hand still held out for the sandwich.

Darren fumbled with the food, muttering something under his breath. They did not meet gazes once except for when they first said hello. Neither were eager to after their last encounter. Though, this had gone unnoticed by Soundwave and Megatron for a time now as they chatted idly over the table about Headquarter's politics and the cities growth. All Tweety could hope was that this visit didn't last long and Megatron didn't think she needed too many 'play dates,' as he had put it.

She believes if Darren knew what she was thinking he would agree with her, if he wasn't already entertaining the same thoughts himself. She had been upset by the idea of coming to see him, but she didn't think that Darren would be even more upset than her; he had appeared visibly offended by the sight of her, and somewhat surprised. She would have thought that Soundwave would have informed his charge of the date before her and Megatron's arrival. But, apparently she was wrong, indicated by the stuttering and shaking hands after Darren's master had prompted his response to her greeting.

After that, a Sunday brunch had ensued, and they had barely gotten past the soup without spitting fire at one another. Very quietly perhaps - so as not to disturb their masters - but still, words were words to Tweety, and Darren appeared brimming with them and ready to share. She, on the other hand, wished to forget the night had ever happened. _I'm sure a lot of Decepticons want the same thing for some of the dumb stuff they did,_ she mused. _I'm not being unreasonable here._

Her host, however, disagreed. As he munched on his sandwich as hurt and as angrily as one could, she wondered if her newfound friendship was now over. She had never been good forming social connections, and mentally she was tallying this as another instance to prove it.

And then, out of nowhere, something happened. With a heave and a sign, rocking a bit in his cross-legged pose, Darren stole into her eyes the same way he had when she had first met him. He seemed so full of compassion that it was unreal to her. "Rumble has been taking piano lessons. I don't want to seem mean, but he sucks." Lowering his voice with an eye flick to his master, he repeated. "He sucks, like really badly."

She didn't smile, but something in her eyes brightened at the thought of Rumble playing piano elegantly verses the likely scenario - the mech at his wits end as he destroyed his piano. "Who's he taking from?"

"Some high dollar instructor from earth." He sighed again, jabbing his fork into a grape in the fruit salad. "Soundwave warned him about taking an earth instrument. I'm not sure if it's meant for Cybertronians, even if everything is to scale."

"Probably not." She agreed, looking to the ceiling thoughtfully. "There's a reason we didn't make techno dubstep from the start like these guys did. We have a connection with our planet, I guess, and the things made from it. Drums, stringed instruments, wind instruments, they're all made from wood and minerals and animal parts."

She didn't notice his eye brighten and lips purse. "Hmm. Well said."

She stayed quiet for a few more minutes, thinking. "What's he been taking exactly?"

"Like what do you mean?" He spoke behind a mouth full, looking at her intently. "Do you play?"

Her eyes brightened in a peculiar way, sitting up straighter. "… No. I… took a little when I was a kid."

He smiled, mischief in his voice. "I'm sure you can help Rumble out then."

She openly snorted, then laughed with him. Megatron glanced down and quirked a small grin at his femme enjoying herself. Soundwave watched Darren stand as he wiped his hands, gathering up the dishes. The teenager paused, looking at Tweety for a moment before he passed the tray to Lazorbeak. "You know… I've never actually heard someone play before that can actually play. I know it's probably been awhile, but do you remember anything?"

Before she could respond, Megatron leaned into the conversation. "What's this about?" His tone was ever commanding, but she saw the curiosity in his optics.

"Oh, Tweety said she can play a bit of piano." Darren smiled at her, knowing he was going to get his way. "We just bought a grand and put it in the sunroom upstairs. It really needs to be broken in by some good hands, maybe then it'll be easier for Rumble."

"Perhaps you can show him what you know." Soundwave nodded, glancing behind his back at the twins' shut bedroom door. Loud theater noises were barely constrained by the wall, faint zombie growls and gunfire reaching her ears. "He is eager, but not necessarily a natural."

"Frenz keeps goading him about it," Darren smiled. "And the less spats they have, the less likely I am to get injured in the scuffle."

"Indeed." Soundwave's voice was smiling. Megatron stood up and gently coaxed Tweety into his hand. She noted that he seemed to have gotten the hang of how to handle humans at this point.

"Well then, I would be interested in seeing what you can do too, Tweety. It would be a nice party trick." Megatron started towards the in-suite elevator.

"But wait, I don't- I mean-" Tweety couldn't finish before Soundwave had them going up.

"Nonsense. There's no pressure." Megatron goaded, smiling down at her. "At least not much."

Gulping as the door opened, Megatron slid her off onto the small end table in the sunroom. The panels beyond the elevator were glass, opening up to the Cybertronian skyline. She could see the bustle of the late morning commute waking itself across Iacon. And then, it suddenly occurred to her that Soundwave had a very, very swank place. Likely just as swank as the Seeker towers, if not more.

And then, looking around the end table, she saw the baby grand sitting peacefully near a lampshade and a high backed chair. The typical pianist's stool was placed before the keys and pedal, waiting invitingly but almost intimidatingly. Her fingers twitched slightly at the thought, and she remembered the soft music playing in her dreams.

She carried herself to the piano without thought, unaware of the eyes watching her. Her eyes were large and curious, almost reverent as she touched the keys. Her fingers then began to take life of their own.

Flowing across the instrument, she began something soft and delicate. Megatron's brows rose. She had the skill only an invested musician could attain, someone who had put thought and effort into their trade. A mistake was made here or there, but her pauses came less and less, confidence growing as the music seemed to invigorate itself all on it's own. She almost appeared possessed in her concentration, easily absolving everything else in the room in her mind.

And when she brought it to a close, she sat back slightly, seeming just as shocked as everyone else. Looking up, she eyed Megatron with doe eyes. She didn't say or do anything but stare.

"… A party trick indeed." Darren clapped, smiling. "Come next week and teach Rumble a thing or two, okay?"

She smiled, nodding behind a blush as she looked down to smooth out her pants. "Okay."

Megatron exchanged glances with Soundwave, and his officer inclined his head. "I know you had other appointments to attend to, master. You may leave at your leisure."

They then began formal goodbyes as Megatron collected his things and left. Tweety sat in his cockpit quietly on the ride to another meeting with tax collectors and Shockwave he had established after the incident with the street mech.

"You never told me you could play." He broke the silence, his voice almost sullen and disappointed. She looked from the window to his cockpit and smiled gently.

"I almost forgot that I could."

* * *

The rest of the weekend passed uneventfully, long naps on the couch being the highlight. Tweety felt her fingers twitching throughout, and she more than once was startled when Megatron asked her to stop humming. She saw the smile on his face as he turned away, though. So it was startling when the week began with shouts echoing down the hallway to Darkmount.

Tweety had been bathing in what was now almost "her" sink next to Megatron's as the warlord was cleaning and lubricating his joints. He looked up first, optics still soft with sleep hardening almost instantly at the noisy intrusion that was slowly growing closer. She only noticed once he stood up and left the bathroom. Standing slowly, water still dripping off her skin, her calves waded through the shallow pool to the rim to listen to what was going to happen next.

Minutes ticked by as the commotion did not stop nor escalate, and then she felt Megatron's steps carrying him back. When he walked through the doorway, he looked angry, confused, and very, very unhappy.

"Tweety, dry off and get dressed." He ordered, disappearing into a closet full of weapons.

She obeyed, crawling out of the basin and picking up a towel. She stood awkwardly in the cold air, looking around for a moment before speaking. "Where are we going? What's happened?"

He didn't respond, returning a few moments later, strapping down the last bits of a mod onto his fusion cannon. He stood, eyes on the far wall as he took in a deep ventilation and exhaled. He took the few steps towards the sink and held out his arm.

"Come. You will see when we get there."

* * *

Megatron flew low, level with the tops of the skyscrapers along Iacon's downtown until they were out of sight. Then he flew even lower, a mere fifty feet from the enforcer alt modes driving on the rough terrain below. She knew him well enough now to know he was purposefully trying to make them nervous. Besides, Starscream and Shockwave were wisely traveling behind the angry Protectorate, and he needed someone to take his frustration out on. Everyone knew Megatron would not be happy with his officers leading some hysteric enforcers into his home and disturbing him in the twilight hours.

His temper did not lessen as they drove either, a solid thirty minutes before the enforcers leading them began to slow. Once they stopped, he made a small circle, and suddenly his humming engines quieted. Tweety tried to see over the rim of the cockpit to understand what had made him surprised, but he circled back, landing with the girl curled up in his servo.

He kept her protected for a few more moments. "… When did this happen?"

Her eyes darted over Megatron's shrouded armor, listen intently to the shuffle of the enforcers. A small scuffle, and the she felt the hum of one of the mech's systems come closer. "The last inspection over this sector was three weeks ago, so it appeared sometime since then."

Silence. She felt Starscream's dainty steps tinkle closer. "Are there any Energon energies emanating from it?"

_Ah. Smart question Starscream._ Tweety internally complimented the mech. _Everyones always looking for new Energon sources, right?_

"No, Commander," the enforcer responded. "We checked inside. Dry as the surface."

_Inside?_ Finally tired of her guessing game, she pushed against Megatron's palms, and he opened them after a moments hesitation. The day had come to full light, and it blinded her for a moment.

She crawled forward carefully, holding onto Megatron's fingers as he began to walk. She stayed low to not be knocked loose, and waited until he stopped next to a whistling noise, like a great expanse of open air was somewhere nearby. Standing up, she looked forward and frowned, seeing nothing immediately. Megatron smirked, eyes looking down. She stepped forward further, following his gaze.

She reeled back, her vertigo overwhelming. They stood on the edge of a chasm, it's cracked lips like a snarling maw miles wide and thousands more deep. Her breaths came a bit more rapidly than she would have liked, staring into the dull metallic crevasse with wide eyes. The sheer _size_ of the scar in the surface shocked her, even more so that it suddenly appeared as if overnight. "W-what is this?" She thought aloud, speaking to no one in particular.

They were joined by Shockwave and Starscream, and the Air Commander gasped dramatically at the sight. "… It- It's the end of us!"

"Not necessarily, Starscream," Shockwave responded, calm as ever. "It would require further study to deduce that fact. And as it stands, the patrols could have missed it over the past sweep or two. It could have taken much longer than a month to form."

"You don't know that." The seeker spat, his flared wings giving a little quiver. "My seekers are _exceptional_ scouts, and are thorough in their duties. Any unauthorized mecha or any strange happenings like this _would_ be found and reported."

"I am not necessarily questioning your mechs performance, Starscream," Shockwave countered, "but merely thinking over all the possibilities. Why, I do believe you were on Earth on business a few weeks ago-"

"Enough talk." Megatron turned from the fissure, holding Tweety close to his chest. "I don't care about possibilities. I want the answer: when did this happen, and why?"

Turning to face his two officers, the two mechs froze. "If this _is_ an issue, we need to keep it quiet. Keep the civilians off of this sector, even if you have to stop all traffic. Don't let this cause another uproar."

Both bowed, Shockwave a bit deeper than his counterpart. "I will see to it myself, my liege."

"Good." On that note, Megatron turned and transformed, shooting towards the skyline with Tweety buckled down securely. The femme looked back towards the crevasse growing smaller in the distance, and she knew that it would not be the last she saw or heard of it.


	8. I-D-R

Tweety's eyes were glued to Megatron all morning in Command. As news circulated fast amongst the ranks, almost all officers and Decepticons were tense. The warlord snapped easily, left for breaks often, and threw almost all of his work onto his secretary's desk. She had a feeling if she would be dealing with the temperamental warlord this evening as well. She visibly shrunk at the thought.

And to add to her stress, she often found Darren staring at her. And every time she caught him, he would jump, startled, and quickly look away. He hovered in his own mess of datapads and books in the playpen, occasionally whispering to Soundwave when he walked by. Whenever she looked to him, she envied his usefulness. It lead to an easy relationship with Soundwave, and although she admits in the past few weeks she felt she had begun to relax around Megatron, she still felt as if he had no respect for her. And by the way Soundwave took tablets from Darren and quickly incorporated them into his presentations, she believed the silent mech very much respected his charge.

And she could not for the life of her understand why Darren was staring at her with lost puppy eyes when she wasn't looking. She _believed_ things had been smoothed over between them since the weekend brunch, but apparently her outburst at the party would have residual effects that she would have to work at to fix. She huffed against her own holds of blankets and trinkets, watching work a distance away. His sensitivities were confusing and irritating; she honestly did not understand why Darren cared so much. Yes, she had been rude and unfair, she now saw that. But why let it bother him so incessantly? Why did he even _want_ to befriend her in the first place?

As she watched him, giggles erupted from the other side of the playpen. They had a sparse crowd today, only around ten pets in the pen. She watched his head flick up at the sound, looking longingly towards Marcus and his group. Tristan was chasing a dark-skinned girl around, and Poppy sat in their mess of blankets as another girl braided her hair. And only a stones throw away from her Darren sat quietly by himself, surrounded by his important work as the others played. And she suddenly felt so stupid to not realize that his working relationship with his owner came at a price, a perhaps rather costly one in their lonely world.

She laid down on her back, book forgotten as she stared at the ceiling. When Darren had first met her he had seen a way out of his isolation from the other pets, an isolation Marcus - in his jealous, competitive ways - likely caused. And her only reason for rejecting him was a spur of the moment decision she made when the outcome of a small quarrel wasn't perfect. She wanted to smack both herself and Marcus.

But, she knew the only way to really make a difference in her error was to talk to Darren. She turned her head towards the boy, brow furrowed. _Well,_ she sighed. _I should just get it over with - sooner rather than later._

Sitting up, she hesitated after her first few steps, face scrunched distastefully. But with a great huff, she continued on her way, edging closer to Darren's pallet. She held her hands together as she approached, knuckles white. When she stopped, she realized she likely had a rather owlish expression. She tried to force her eyes to dim to an appropriate size, but she was never very good at controlling her expressions.

After a few moments of wait she coughed politely. Darren looked up, his eyes brightening considerably. She barely met his gaze, looking towards the far wall as if a great commotion was occurring in the brickwork. Again, it was rather silent, until Darren cleared his throat.

"Oh. Well hi." And after that, more silence. Darren blinked up at Tweety with an increasingly owlish look; Tweety suddenly realized that the young man's behavior of late was what could be classified as _moody._ She internally sighed. Emotions were too pesky.

"I wanted to say… I'm sorry. For torquing off on you." His face was neutral, but she could detect the slightest brightening of his eyes. "It was uncalled for. I was just upset about Marcus harassing me."

The young male digested this slowly. But then, he smiled, standing up. "You wanna go beat the shit out of him?"

Tweety didn't realize what about the statement shocked her more: that Darren proposed they attack the head of their very small, reclusive society without due reason or that this was the first time Darren had cursed in front of her. Either way, by the kindness showing full brilliance on his face, she knew she had been forgiven.

She grinned. "Let's."

* * *

"Would you care to explain why you threw trail-mix at the seeker's humans?"

"Old vendetta. Human politics you wouldn't understand."

"Ah. I see. But I would hope that squeaky disturbance that Marcus offered won't become a common occurrence."

"Not at all." Tweety sighed, swaying with Megatron's footsteps. She examined her nails for nut remnants when something hit her.

"So… what's going to happen with the fissure?"

Megatron looked over his shoulder at his charge as they walked from Command. He honestly had had enough of work related topics, but her tone of voice was so curious he couldn't exactly snap at her. Sighing deeply, he looked back towards the pathway between buildings. Not many Cybertronians wandered here in the alleyways, so they had some privacy.

"I don't think anything will come of it." He grumbled, watching a turbo-rat scurry behind a trash compactor. "Cybertron's an old planet, and it's likely to shift from time to time. And Shockwave was right. Starscream doesn't always keep a tight enough leash on his seekers, so they could have overlooked the fissure through a number of ways."

And there he ended it, optics set forward. Tweety contemplated those thoughts, eyeing her master. Though his tone was final, she pushed the issue. "But how could that have been possible? I don't think Starscream is _that_ lazy. What if it did appear overnight? The rapid change of terrain would no doubt cause concern."

His optics darted to her, glowing red. "Don't poke your nose where it doesn't belong, human. Our world doesn't concern you and doesn't need your opinion."

She huffed, hunkering down slowly, as if she was melting.

Though, she thought with a small smile, she could worry over where they were going. Sitting up, she spotted more than a few mechs ducking out of sight when Megatron's form loomed closer. It wasn't even quite about _who_ Megatron was, she noticed, but rather his stranger's intrusion.

"Where are we going?" Her question went unanswered for a while, and she realized that this habit of his was starting to irritate her when she had to check her huff.

Megatron's eyes roved, his steps pausing occasionally as he assessed alley corners and listened for danger. "You'll see."

Tweety's form was stiff, her fingers wringing together. It was hard to not take his vagueness as a bad omen.

On he continued, strides carrying him further into the ghetto of Iacon. They emerged from the alleys into the daylight. The sparse crowds dispersed at the sight of Megatron. A femme plunged into a doorway, and a mechling clad in scanty armor watched alluringly, flanked by a pimp. The lord paid no mind, as usual; his focus was intently on a shop down the rough pavement.

Tweety sat up straighter, straining to see the shop's signs. _Music from Earth_ was emblazoned above the doorway, pasted clips of old music icons from the 21st century and before along every window. She stopped and stared at the imagery, noting with coming indifference that she was beginning to view her familiarity with such things as normal.

Megatron stepped into the open doorway, and he stood tall in the high headroom. The clerk behind the counter popped up like a jack-in-the-box, his movements quick and his optics bright.

"Lord Megatron," he bowed, "I'm so happy you've made an appointment with us. Please follow me to the back."

Tweety listened to the shopkeeper's higher caste lilt with interest and his expertly shined plating caught her eye as well. He had to have been from before the war, his mannerisms reminisce of the cultures of Towers mechs. She watched his back as her master followed him, noting the two long, old wounds in his armor. She realized they were once wings.

She smelled it before she saw it; the wood finish emanating from everything in the room. Two workbenches sat on either wall of the small wood shop, strings, hammers, ivory and many tiny tools lain on each. She felt the attention shift to her immediately when she saw them.

Human-sized, perfect little pianos sat on a shelf along the back wall. She noted somewhere in the back of her mind that they were not the only instruments being made in this shop: guitars, drums, flutes, and a number of other instruments appeared to be of their forte. Her first immediate thought was bewilderment. How could a shop on Cybertron make it selling human music and making human-sized instruments? And why had Megatron brought her here?

She sighed, leaning against Megatron's shoulder armor spike. He could only mean to buy her an instrument.

"Do you have anything from earth?" She guessed aloud, unable to help but eye what appeared to be a refurbished Baldwin sitting on the edge of the shelf. The shopkeeper gracefully picked the instrument up and set in on an open table, where Megatron also set Tweety down.

"Has it been tuned?" She inquired, moving around the wooden piece. Her hand glided over the smooth finish, stopping to pick at a bump or two were something had gouged the wood. Sitting down, she ran through some scales and five-finger exercises, humming quietly with the notes.

Megatron watched with interest. His face contorted into a semblance of a smile when he reached down to rest his hand near her. "Is this one satisfactory, my human?"

She nodded absently, eyes not really showing recognition until she stopped a few moments later. Her hands suddenly levitated off the piano, as if they hurt to the touch. She held them there aloft as she looked down. And then she stood up and stared at the keys.

Megatron watched quietly, and somewhere behind him the shopkeeper tried to maintain a respectful distance but also observe. A few more moments went by before Megatron interrupted her trance. "Human?… Tweety."

She started at her name, looking up at him, and then finally returning her hands to her side. She stared at it a bit longer. "I don't want a piano."

Megatron waited a few moments, then leaned forward. "Excuse me?"

"I don't need a piano." She rephrased, looking into his eyes. He saw something hidden behind her stony exterior.

"You will get a piano, today, so you can play for me." Megatron reaffirmed. Irritation lingered in his optics, daring her to challenge him. Still staring at Tweety, he motioned to the piano and barked at the shopkeeper to prepare it for travel. But neither him nor his charge really noticed as the wooden instrument disappeared and they were left alone in the room.

Tweety looked away first, shuffling her arms from loose to crossed and back. Megatron's eyes tracked her movements, noting her stroking her fingers. Just as he was about to say something the shopkeeper returned, beckoning them to the front. The two sat for a moment, unsure, until he scooped her up and followed the tradesmech.

* * *

It was very quiet in the dining room, Megatron seated at the head chair and the girl not very far from him. Tweety stared at the piano as if it was offensive. Megatron stared at her as if she was crazy.

The mech - despite his efforts both great and small - could not figure out why she suddenly hated the idea of having one in the home. He genuinely thought he was giving his pet a well-thought gift when he took her to the store. But here she was, after a silent and thankless ride back home with the instrument in tow, staring at the lonesome object with something akin to loathing.

He leaned forward with his controlled exhale, settling his elbows on the tabletop. Tweety did not so much as flinch, sitting ramrod straight a few feet ahead of him. He originally had set her down so she could begin playing for him, but when five minutes had passed and she was still sitting silently, he realized she had no intention of doing so.

"Do you think you're going to play?" The question came out as a growl, and the message was obvious - he was not inquiring of her intentions, but threatening.

She sat still few moments, not even a twitch to show she had heard him. His anger rose further, and he stood, slamming his chair back. "What do you think you're _doing?_ I have offered you a perfect present, tailored to your needs, and you deem it unnecessary to even _acknowledge?_"

His fist raised, and then she flinched. His whole body shook with his rage, before he threw the raised arm down and stormed about the house. Tweety could hear his shouts from the other room as he went off on a tangent - words like 'ungrateful,' 'useless,' and 'impossible' being the highlight of his language. Her face, although still staring at the piano, began to soften, her eyes threatening with the sheen of wetness.

She stood up and walked slowly to the edge of the tabletop, wondering if her master would ever come back to get her tonight. It may have been a blessing if he didn't for his anger could last hours, and she knew first hand the extent of what he could do when displeased.

But she didn't stand there long before she felt his looming body shake the floor as he approached, and then he stood in the doorway. His face was dark, his eyes still enraged, but by some miracle he seemed content to just watch each other. She didn't shuffle or fidget under his gaze. He realized then that the biggest reason for his anger was confusion.

Her face was sad, but otherwise unreadable. Her eyes were forlorn as if she mourned for someone or something, her hands slack at her sides. He felt a sense of reasoning take over him, a small voice telling him he was missing something and that he didn't understand. And his spark barked back, _Don't understand_ what?

In moments of internal strife, Megatron almost felt a brief disconnect in his body, so he was unaware but not surprised when he found himself on his favorite couch with Tweety sitting on the coffee table. She had sat there so many times before at this point - almost a month had gone by between them, and he still felt like he knew so little of her.

And perhaps that was just the problem. "I would think someone who played would enjoy a piano in the house," he ventured, his voice still angry - still hurt.

She seemed to sense it then, the feelings that Megatron might not have even realized in his own spark. Her eyes softened marginally, and she averted her eyes shyly, unsure where to begin. Her hands folded and unfolded several times before she spoke. "It's… Not that…"

"Then _what is it?_" He growled, fists clenching as he leaned over her. "Why don't you just _tell me_ what you want, Tweety? I have been a generous and forgiving master, but you have been nothing but an ungrateful wretch of a pet! Why shouldn't I just toss you away, like every other worn-out toy?"

She was still and small for a few moments more, and Megatron saw the shadow brewing beneath her hunched shoulders. She looked up, eyes passionate, hands clenched tight. "Because you don't _get it,_ Megatron. You don't understand equality. You don't have the slightest concept of what could and _would_ make me happy."

"Then enlighten me, roach." He spat back, arms crossed and waiting.

Her eyes brimmed with tears, looking down at her hands and stroking them over. As his anger reached new heights at her silence, reason was washed out. He was mad, and that made him bold.

"What?" He mocked. "What? What would make you happy? The rebellion you've spoken of in the past? The ones you _dream_ about?"

She looked up, mortified. He continued, glee in his optics and his grin sinister. "Oh yes, I hear them. I hear them all. Your shouts and pleas do so often wake me up in the night. And don't think for one moment I didn't wonder to myself, 'Why is she so _secretive?_ Why doesn't she ever offer anything up about herself?'"

"You never say anything about yourself either," she jumped to defend, but they both knew it only made her look all the more guilty. Megatron stood, circling the table with his hands flexed at his sides, ready to strike.

"Then fine! My creators names were Jagged and Deadmouth. I was born in the lowest districts of Kaon and sent to work in the mines until I was bought by a ringmaster to be a gladiator. Who were your creators, Tweety? Where were you sparked? Where were you raised?"

At her silence, he shook, laughing. "Is your name even _Tweety?_ Or was that the name your _rebellion_ gave you?"

Still silent, head hung low, so his voice rose further. "Who were your creators?" Still more silence, so again: "Who were your parents?"

She just seemed to shrink further. He shook with rage.

"ANSWER me!"

Tweety whimpered at his outburst, saying something so quietly not even his advanced audios could hear. _"What?"_ He demanded.

She took in a steadying breath, her shoulders trembling. "I-I don't know."

"Then where were you raised?"

She sighed, looking up, face wet. "I don't know."

"What do you mean you don't-"

"MEGATRON, it's just that! _I don't know! I don't remember!_"

An that made him stop. the air changed, his face frozen in a snarl. She was openly sobbing now, hands holding her face.

He realized somewhere in the conversation he had loomed closer than necessary even in his opinion, so he took a step back to reassess. "What do you mean… _you don't know?"_ His words may have still held fire, but he was much more cautious. His optics followed her tears closely.

She hiccuped her way through her reply. "I-I don't… I d-don't remember a-an-ny-thing." She paused, looking down at her snotty shirt and sniffling loudly. Megatron knelt, trying to meet her optics to look for deceit. She looked back up with clear eyes.

"I woke up one day in the badlands about two years ago. That's all I know about my past." Both she and Megatron were frozen in the following silence, unsure of what to do or what to say. She stroked her hands softly and watched as his optics made small movements to track her features and movements. She always knew he was hard to read, but he was practically featureless in that moment.

Eventually he stood, walking away from the living area into another part of the house. She waited in suffocating silence for him to come back as the tremors of his steps faded.

But as minutes turned into hours, she wondered if he planned on leaving her there for the night. After it had long gone dark, she was woken by the still-apparent shadow of her master looming far overhead.

Staring up at his glowing red optics with wide eyes, she watched him hold out his hand. "Come with me."


	9. The Brain Rape and the Sister

Tweety's tears had long dried, but she still felt the sobbing bobbing up and down in her throat, threatening to resurface.

Terror griped her. She knew Megatron knew. He watched her throughout the flight to wherever they had gone. Even if she couldn't see his eyes, she still _felt_ his stare. Distrustful, angry - angry beyond all belief. If Megatron was past words, something inside him had snapped. She wrung her hands in the silence of his cab. As the seat beneath her grew warmer and warmer she wondered if she was going to live through the night.

He touched down minutes after they took off, so she knew they hadn't gone far. But she wasn't sure what to do with the information. He transformed, the jostling metal around her familiar but still frightening in that moment. She looked up and tried to meet his eyes for a feel of his mood. But he refused to look at her, striding off the tarmac they had landed on and into the hood of an overhang off a building.

The hallways were dark, seething with the hiss and click of machinery. Some of the devices were attached to the walls; others, moving about the floor. The glow of bio-lights and energies bathed her and Megatron in a shocking green, his red optics boring into the dim and din.

Even in the darkness, she saw the tell-tale movements and glows of Shockwave’s “experiments.” A drone, clicking along on eight legs, skittered down the hall past them. Megatron didn’t bother to sidestep it and it hopped onto the wall to crawl past. She jumped back at the sudden movement, feeling her heart leap to her throat. It continued along as she watched it, but once Megatron was far enough away, she saw it look back, sharing her gaze. Six eyes blinked in tandem, a short appendage from it’s mouth dripping saliva.

As she watched the rooms fly past them, she swore she saw figures in the dark - Cybertronian figures, and when they passed, one’s head whipped up. She could only see his eyes. One blue orb bored into her, an Autobot, she knew. The other optic flickered dimly.

“Wait!” A voice, distinctly male. She shuddered against Megatron’s plating at the lonesome cry. “WAIT! Who are you? Help! Help us! Don’t…” She covered her face as a foul smell assaulted her; ammonia, perhaps, and she saw Megatron flinch too. His face turned from angry to disguised in an instant. She knew that smell; it was in the badlands every once in a while. The Cybertronian’s lifeblood often smelled of ammonia.

Megatron’s steps moved faster and soon the mech was out of earshot. But his wordless howls still echoed down the hallways, chasing after Tweety’s ears. She held back a sob, eyes shimmering in the green glow.

She was preparing to beg when they turned, entering a room. Her breath heaved and weighed her, her fingers clutching onto Megatron's fingers. He paid her little mind. Walking up a few small steps onto a plateau, she was aware of someone else in the darkness.

Shockwave emerged, his lone optic gleaming in the darkness as it bobbed in deference to his lord. "Lord Megatron. I have readied the cortical physic patch."

She had heard of the scientist, but none of the stories could predict the horror of his visage. Standing to Megatron’s shoulders, one lone optic gleamed at her blankly. At the moment, one hand was a cannon, while the other held scalpels and tools, serrated and crooked to wicked shapes. Her eyes widened, fixed to the tools.

_A patch?_ Her mind raced. He wasn't going to kill her? It dawned on her that, yes, he would have done that back at Darkmount. If he was going to kill her, he wouldn't be taking her to this strange place - Shockwave's laboratory. Despite that comforting revelation, her relief was short-lived. Shockwave's practice of science was infamously dark and macabre. He was the father of genetic alteration after years of study on the human race. She knows many humans died in his experiments; some of her contemporaries were lost to them. She could still see hollow eyes staring at her, mutilated flesh blended with metal and glowing fluids radiating in darkness.

She shook off the thoughts. Dwelling on such old memories only heightened her panic, and the fact they planned to do a physic patch was of little comfort. Shockwave had recently developed this technology to work cross-species. But the exact procedure was a mystery to her, and when it came to Shockwave, mysteries could be worse than death.

She lurched forward, unprepared, when Megatron moved again. He squeezed his hand around her, setting her down with little of the gentleness that he had learned in the past weeks. She took to her feet almost immediately, head twisting and spinning about. She stopped her frantic search when she saw what she had been expecting: The Chair

Made of of metal with wires and tubes sprouted from the frame like a desecrated corpse, it smelled sterile, a contrast to the dark brown stains lining the seat and armrests. A dark helmet hovered above it, her imagination running wild. How would they infiltrate her neurons? Through needles, perhaps?

Sucking in a breath, her face trembled, threatening to fall apart. Her dreads whipped over her shoulder when she spun around to face the two mechs who had been watching her. A standoff ensued while they made their intention clear, staring towards her, waiting. She would have mistaken it for patience had she not known the familiar blaze in Megatron's optics, lit by the ominous glow thrumming beneath their feet. She paled further underneath his critical anger.

"You don't have to do this," her voice quavered, flat and bleary with realization.They stared back, daring her to make a move. She saw his gaze go to her bent knees and hands held poised at her sides. Her crouch was ready for flight - something only trained badlanders would know. _Or a trained spy,_ she knew he thought. The glare in his optics said it all, and she realized she had misspoke. She had to do this, whatever it entailed. Or he would kill her.

Fear stabbed her through the heart as Megatron’s hand advanced towards her, claws reaching out to touch her. She fled, scurrying for the end of the table before Megatron’s fist slammed in front of her. The tabletop beneath her feet quaked, and she fell backwards. Her feet hung in the divot made by his force.

“Don’t, Tweety,” he snarled, voice a low rasp. It trembled with the strength of his fury. “Don’t make me kill you, human. I am not in the mood for our games.”

She stood, shaking from the tips of her fingers to the arch of her ankles. Spittle hung on her lip, and her tears now flowed freely. She looked up at Shockwave. He stared, passive.

_I have no other choice._ With a choked back sob, she surrendered.

She turned towards the chair, Shockwave's steps mirroring her own as she approached it. The scientist took position somewhere behind her as she sat down. The coldness of the chair sent chills across her back when it met her bare thighs. She looked down at her shorts, reminiscing. She remembered how good it felt to have the wind on them when only hours ago, she chased Marcus with Darren at her heels. And then, a desire flared, shocking her: to have his gentle smile somewhere nearby.

Her thoughts were overlapped by the clicks and whirs behind her, and then around her. The chair thrummed to life with a long beep. The bowl descended onto her head. Before she could register what was happening, something large and sharp plunged into her neck with a swift, clean movement. Pain flared along her spine with a _zap_ that moved into her brain. She shouted, then gasped for air, trying to remain in control. A numb feeling took over her back. She wondered if she was paralyzed, but too scared to move. Her vision swam with panic. She felt her breaths coming faster and faster while her pupils shrunk to pinpricks.

Tweety flicked her eyes up through her grimacing to see her master’s ugly smirk. She tried to gulp, but her throat felt dry. Megatron approached his own chair. Her eyes bulged with her terror, her breaths coming in ragged heaves.

“Is there any likelihood that I would be able to see her amnesiac memories?” Megatron’s snapped at Shockwave. He turned to face his lord.

“No, not likely.” Shockwave seemed to be thinking - his eye didn’t move, but she saw his head tilt marginally. “I have never conducted trials involving amnesiac subjects. M’lord, that would be our farthest concern, however. With such unlikelihood that you will see what you intend to, it may be best not to risk your sanity. I cannot promise-“

“Silence!” Megatron’s voice boomed across the lab, reverberating off the table into Tweety’s ears. It was the only thing she could clearly hear at that point. He went on, but her senses had begun to lock up. Her breaths came shallow. Her heartbeat was the only thing on her mind.

"Wait!" She shouted, the action jarring the needles inserted into her spine. She cried out again. Pain shot and spread into every limb from her neck down. The numbness infected her further, and she had to check if she still had legs. "Wait," and this time her voice was a drawl, her head slowly lolling to the side. She heard a hiss, and fluid moved into her, sending a cold chill running through her body. Going limper by the moment, she felt the fight leave her.

"Wait..." She cried, her eyelids falling closed. Moments later, she felt - not heard, _felt _\- Megatron's cackle echo within her, dark with promise.

* * *

The first thing Megatron noticed when descending into her head was this:

It was chaos.

A void, so colorful and vivid it hurt. She was nowhere and everywhere at once - in the floor, the ceiling, the very atmosphere was pocked with her particles. The entire place pulsed with her essence, and with something else. He identified it as pure, unadulterated panic.

“Tweety!” He shouted. His mind spun, his hands going to his helm. _Never_ had a patch felt like this; his blunder moved over him with a shallow ache. Why hadn’t he listened to Shockwave? Optics rolled back in his head with a fresh wash of horror from the girl. Everything twirled in a kaleidoscope of images, feelings, senses. He looked about for an anchor, a thought to latch onto. At the core of the swarm was a sensation that he was unsure of origin, but he took it. Grasping it firmly, when a feeling, this thing, _breathing_ filled his chest, he almost vomited with the intensity. Back and forth he felt her lungs moving, rapidly. In tandem two organs he had never had suddenly seemed to be his very own, and the awareness was revolting.

“Tweety!” He called again, trying to find her avatar in the landscape of nothing and everything. “Tweety! Stop this at once!”

She didn’t respond. Going to his knees, clutching his breastplate, he looked upwards towards the heavens. “Shockwave! Drug her _more!”_

After but an instant, he felt a difference. Things began to calm down. Her breathing was suddenly numbed, as if he had numbed himself. Her thoughts moved about, erratic, but sluggish. He sighed.

“Tweety.” His voice carried into the void a bit softer this time, but still demanding. His armor gleamed with the colors dancing about him. His optics were weary. “Show yourself.”

Several beats later, she emerged from the fog. Slick with sweat, her dreads clung to her limp frame, her eyes looking forward in a daze. She stopped at his feet.

Another silence - disrupted only by the movement around them, the swishes and whispers of activity. He stood quietly, taking it in. He had said it before, but he would say it again: this had been _nothing_ like any other patch, such as Starscream’s. Revolted, and slightly uncertain, he looked down at Tweety.

She stared up solemnly. Seeing her reminded him of the ghost-like quality of her - war-torn, bedraggled, like a refugee even after the weight she had put on in the last several weeks. She shivered underneath his hard gaze as he stared. Afterwards, he contented himself with looking about, her gaze following his as he appraised the blackness and then rounded back to her, and her to himself.

He held back a sigh, apprehensive to continue after a taste of what she could give without even trying. Her mind was a dangerous place. He understood that now.

“Take me to your past.” He almost spat the words, concentrating more on getting them out than trying to demand of her.

She shuffled closer, that hollow look still in her eyes. The silence stretched long enough for Megatron to open his mouth but just then she spoke. “You’re going to have to be more specific.”

Megatron glared hard. “You’re going to _tell me the truth!”_ His voice went off into the blackness around them and didn’t come back. It made his words seem meaningless, which made him angrier.

He closed the distance, leaning down in a crouch and snarling in her face. “Nothing, and I mean _nothing_ is going to stop me from finding whatever it is you’re hiding.”

She didn’t respond. Gave nothing but a shiver. And again, it only made him more furious.

He looked up. “Shockwave! Show me what I need to know! Now!”

A pause, lasting only a few seconds, and suddenly the world turned again. She braced herself on her knees, and then buckled, falling to the floor and looking agape at Megatron. He didn’t deem to help her. His eyes scanned the scene, looking for change, and in mere moments he realized she was gone.

And then he looked up again and saw everything was different. In fact, he was different. It was dark, wherever he was. If it wasn’t for the lack of concrete vision he believed he would have again been overwhelmed by her intense senses. Movement was the right word, honestly, for how it all felt. Like his processor had left his body and had begun floating away from him - carrying his thoughts with it.

Another thing was that his pedes were _excruciating. _Every step this body took forward had him groaning out, but no words left him. He was in her body, he realized, in her dream, in her memory. He was simply a passenger. It was infuriating that he had to feel her pain as well.

She moved across the badlands in darkness. As the night sky rotated overhead, stars bright against the blackness, she stumbled a time or two on her blazing feet, and Megatron latched onto one line of thought: _pain pain pain_. He tried to ignore all else. He was a warrior, and he could handle pain, just not her ever-spinning whirl of thoughts.

She paused at some point. Her gaze turned and he watched her take in the open valley, the floor reflective, trees and buildings appearing like they had been molded over with liquid tin. Something shifted within her, something like _loss - sad - lonely,_ and she was moving on at her achingly slow pace.

Her journey continued for awhile. He almost didn’t notice when the second pain started - something in her groin, and he could hear her gasp with each step above the whistle of the wind. Soon enough, she was crawling, and sooner then she was laying on the ground in the open. Tears blurred her vision as she looked down. Her hands folded back her coverings and drew back with blood on them.

Megatron here realized that this must have been after her hysterectomy, and shortly after her escape. Perhaps mere hours. He was about to shout to Shockwave to take him someplace important before he heard it. _Boom._

Their shared vision tipped and spun, landing to be eye-level with the horizon. _Boom._ As she laid on her back he wondered what exactly he was looking at; further on, he swore he saw lights bobbing in the distance through her hazy gaze. Long after he realized what it was, the past version of Tweety did. _Boom._ She scrambled, heaving herself forward, crawling past the skyline down towards a small hovel she could hide in._ Boom._

The space was cramped, and she scrambled to tuck her limbs from sight. Megatron felt her lungs hitch tighter and tighter with each rumble in the distance, a signal of what was coming. _Boom._ The ceiling shook, letting debris fall. A shadow, faint in the night, drew over the ground they could see. Megatron felt his own mind stalling up with trepidation.

All at once, just as her sobs began to sound and her vision blur, he realized he had seen enough. But he was far too enraptured to call for Shockwave, even if he knew how in this state. A spotlight roved about the pale metal. She shivered as it drew closer to her and then passed above them. The tips of her fingers were illuminated momentarily, making her snatch her hand against her chest.

And then, a voice. “We know you’re there.”

Megatron felt the very, very odd sensation of her dry throat bobbing in a gulp. She didn’t respond. He heard the hiss and hum of the machine above them, and Megatron’s mind couldn’t help but try to pick the puzzle apart. Was it slavers, truly? What exactly _was_ it?

He only got a beat or two to think before the ground was suddenly upended. With a thud, they were in the air. Dirt flew around them. The spotted sky tipped and spun before they slammed back down to the earth. Pain erupted everywhere - she had landed on her side, but Megatron felt as if his body was on _fire._

Through bleary vision, Megatron saw what she saw as she looked up at the creature. Standing tall above them was a six-legged mass of slick metal and pistons, moving downwards, towards them, coming closer until it’s cockpit was staring right at her. It stared for a moment before she was snatched up. Megatron immediately recognized it as one of theirs’ - a tank designed to navigate Earth’s landscape.

Her head lolled to the side, staring at the claw clutching her. Megatron’s mind was completely wrapped in the situation before he realized, _What does this even mean?_

And so, he stopped it.

“Shockwave,” his voice boomed, the memory suddenly fading. “Why… did you take us here?”

The scientist was silent for awhile. Slowly, Megatron felt the realm around him change. Tweety was at his feet. The shadow around them shimmered into place.

“Well?” He demanded, turning a circle and gesturing above.

“There’s… not enough information to take you to specific memories, m’lord.”

Shockwave’s voice was quiet. Tweety seemed disoriented by his speech; she looked around, stumbling to the floor. Megatron didn’t mind her.

“What do you _mean?”_ His voice was like iron.

Shockwave hesitated. “There… we… her memory is not logically catalogued like a Cybertronians. It’s like picking them blind.”

Megatron blew a hot puff of exhaust over Tweety, staring down at her. “Then we must extract what we need to know from _you_.”

She wobbled her way to a stand. He barked, “Show me what I want to know.”

She grinned. “Like I said before,” a pant, “… you’re going to have to be more specific than that.”

“I don’t NEED to be specific!” He roared. “I want _answers!_ Where are you from, what is your purpose, who sent you, who _are you?!”_

Her forced smile suddenly disappeared. She paused, looking up. “Let me show you.”

Too soon, the universe began to spin again. Pain was sent forth like a tidal wave, crash after crash as he moved from moment to moment, images spinning too fast, senses coming too rapidly. He blindly moved to shut off his receptors, all of his senses, but in this world, he couldn’t. She seemed to not even understand what she was doing to him. She flipped through each memory like she was browsing a page in a catalogue, stopping momentarily to check a thought or see something someone said. But otherwise, the torture felt like eternity to Megatron.

Finally, she stopped. They landed somewhere before - somewhere… strangely dark. Time seemed so odd, here in this place, and if he thought her mind-space was non-concrete in the patch, this was dismal. It took a few moments to realize that she was _dreaming._

Little pianos. Voices, disembodied - howls, chatter beyond that, and a single face that struck him with a force it almost knocked him off his feet. The Autobot scout, the voiceless Bumblebee. His big blue optics haunted her, apparently, and he felt her fear and sadness follow her everywhere his face was. And when Megatron turned his attention to the voices, why, he almost could place them. Just perhaps-

Then she woke up.

Gasping, breathless, to hisses and whirrs and a persistent beeping. She was trapped inside a shell of some kind. Skylight dripped from above, spots of it dotting a console, frosty and incoherent. She looked up. An aged pane of glass showed the outside sky.

Moving up, she maneuvered a hand in the tight quarters to place a palm against it. Next, she moved her attention to the beeping noise. Everything was so bleary, so uncertain, Megatron wasn’t sure exactly what she did to get out of the pod, nor how she found herself sitting on her knees in the sunlight, tears streaming down her face as she looked out at the world. Talking to herself, like an interrogator. _Where are you? Who are you? What happened?_ Her angry voice blubbering all the way as she trudged forward and past metal-glazed houses and cars, streets and signs. Wildlife standing frozen in the street. _People._ He heard her say to herself. _Oh, the people…_

She touched a man’s horrified face, stopping to return his gape. That’s when she seemed to snap.

Just as she reached for a now weapon-like cane laying next to an old man, thoughts screaming _wrong-intent-remove,_ Tweety took Megatron out. Megatron thought about yelling at Shockwave for allowing the human to commandeer the patch, but something stopped him. Her feelings, fresh and raw in the memory, woke something he had long since buried. What she said, the way she felt, was familiar. Eerily so. He had had the same feelings leaving and returning to Cybertron, watching his homeland lay in a desecrated state.

He turned on the human, shoulders hiked, but optics open. “What… does that mean?”

She seemed to be getting weaker by the moment. “What does… what mean? What… you saw?”

He bored into her unhesitatingly. “You mourned for your homeland. Why?”

“Why?” She gasped, almost choked, on the word. “Why? Why did you? Why-“ a moment for air, “… did _any_ of you? Because it’s _home!_ It’s… it’s your birthplace! You really need that _explained_ to you?"

Megatron didn’t immediately respond, just stared. Tweety balked back up at him, panting, trying to rise to her feet. Megatron noted that Shockwave was continuing to observe, not interfering, but shuffled the thought away for later analysis.

“What other emotions lie in your busy little mind, I wonder?” He mused, beginning to circle her. “What could you be hiding, dreaming of the scout as you do?”

She paused. “… What?” Her voice cracked, and fell to a knee again.

“The scout!” Megatron spat. “The Autobot Bumblebee! The slave in the marketplace! Don’t tell me you don’t know who he is, because I know you do.”

A pause, too perfectly clueless not to be genuine, was his response. She looked up at him for a moment longer, wobbling and wheezing. “I… the yellow one?”

Megatron stared. “Yes, the _yellow one_.” Once more he tried. “Now, what are your plans? What dastardly scheme have you come up with to overthrow me like the many attempts-“

“None!” She shouted, this time making it to her feet with a sudden burst of energy. Megatron felt the very indignation in the air around him - her mind writhed with her emotion, the blackness turning vivid and colorful with intense red. “I don’t _have_ any plans! I’m not a spy!”

He stared, considering. “Prove it.”

“Why don’t _you_ prove it!” She shouted, face flushing. “You’re the one throwing accusations, barreling into this place like you know something! Then, go ahead, prove it!”

_“You’re_ the one who’s dreaming of Autobots.” He retorted, venom leeching into his tone. “You’re the one speaking of rebellions, vying for freedom, throwing every fit and taking every chance to move towards the mere opportunity of daylight. Why? How could I _not_ be suspicious?”

She fumed red, stamping a foot and eyes glancing in the blackness that was slowly turning, spots turning orange then a sickish yellow. She balled her fists and looked back at him. “I could say that I was traumatized by the slave’s beating, hypothetically. Hypothetically, I could say that I heard a lot of talk from drunks in the badlands, and that I picked up their… wilder ideas. Hypothetically.”

Megatron leered. “Hypothetically, I could say that you’re an agent of some _uprising,_ a resurrection of Prime’s regime.”

“I could also say that I’m a distraction sent straight from Starscream.” She glanced at the ceiling, fingers twitching. “Hypothetically.”

“What?” Megatron’s face went slack, his voice incredulous. “We weren’t-“

“Yeah, we weren’t,” she smiled. “But I had to do something.”

He stared. She stared, the smile growing wider. Megatron’s shoulders bristled underneath the strangely palpable observation of Shockwave. He turned away from Tweety, striding off vaguely.

“Why were you in that capsule?” He seemed to mutter, his voice growing steadily stronger as he paced. “Who put you in there, and for what purpose? Why did you wake _then?”_

He stopped, staring at her with the widest, most incredulous expression she had ever seen on him. It was as if Optimus Prime was being resurrected before his eyes.

He began to walk back her way. His hands clasped behind him, his optics growing dark. “There just… isn’t enough information.”

“Then what are you going to do with me?” She spat, trembling as she sat on the floor.

He looked at her solemnly. “I honestly don’t know.”

“If I may, Lord Megatron?” Shockwave’s droning tone entered again, making Tweety flinch. She raised a hand to her temples to massage them as the scientist continued uninterrupted. “Seeing as she has no access to memories before her wakeup date of approximately two and a half earth years ago, it is safe to say she truly has global amnesia. If she has a derogative given to her prior to this date, she would be unaware of it. And we have seen much of her current memory. It is unlikely that we would have missed anything to do with a uprising.”

Megatron was harsh. “Your point?”

“We have no reason to believe she is an Autobot agent.”

This hung in the air for a moment. Megatron resumed his pacing. Tweety watched him, her eyes large. He could feel her breath still and could see her hands fidget against the floor. Once he turned to look at her, he could see the terror, the uncertainty, the wait hanging over her head like a guillotine waiting to fall, her mouth hung open in a wordless scream.

It would not do, he decided.

“Shockwave.” He ordered. “Bring us up."

* * *

He rose first. Moving his stiff limbs, he felt the last twitches of the patch move through his system. As he flexed his fingers, he noted each individual one, holding back a sigh of relief as he realized how _good_ it felt to be in his own body again. Nothing could compare to his own head, he realized.

Then he turned to inspect the rest of the room. Tweety was taking a bit longer to come around; her grunts and huffs as she struggled to wake were instigated by Shockwave’s prodding. She squealed when he removed the needle in her spine. It made Megatron flinch.

“Shockwave,” he rushed forward, pulling himself up to full height, “be careful with what is mine. I expect her to have not a mark or blemish from this ordeal.”

“Understood, Lord Megatron.” The scientist lifted her shirt unceremoniously, swabbing the injection site on her back. As Megatron watched with suspicious optics, he was distracted by Tweety.

She was holding a hand against her mouth, her eyes lit with mirth. He watched her snicker and sputter behind the hand for a moment before barking at her. “What is so funny?”

She glanced up at him, removing her hand to show a grin. She opened her mouth to speak, but two words in she dissolved into giggles once again.

He stared hard. “Don’t make fun of me after I spared your life, human. It is not wise.”

“Oh, God, no,” she giggled. “I’m not making fun of you.”

He leaned forward, sneering. “Then whatever _are_ you doing?”

Several beats passed as her grin turned into a gentle smile, her hands fixing her blouse once more and playing with the hem as she looked up at him. Eventually, she shrugged. “Oh, nothing, I suppose.”

She stepped from the chair, bare feet padding her way towards him. She stood in front of him, hands on her hips. She fixed him with an expectant look, lips drawn, eyebrows raised. “Well, isn’t the test over with?” And as he was about to ask whatever nonsense she was talking about, “Do I have to get down _by myself?”_

He started, but stopped, mouth a thin line. Raising his servo, he allowed her to clamber on, taking perhaps a bit longer than usual. Despite her cheery attitude, he noticed her struggle, the way her hands shook and her legs wobbled. The patch had worn her thin.

“Shockwave,” he addressed, “there wasn’t anything containing gluten in the substances you gave her?”

The scientist had his back turned to them. He paused, then turned around from the table. “No, my lord. If I may ask: why?”

The gray warlord waved him off. “She’s allergic, or some nonsense. It’s late. We will be leaving you now to recharge.”

He thought he heard Tweety mumble something along the lines of ‘or whatever it is you do in the night,’ but ignored the comment. Out the door he went, moving along the same path. Tweety began to loll to the side; the hour was late into her recharge cycle.

“Why?” She whispered. Megatron flicked his eyes to her momentarily, then back ahead of him.

“Why do I keep being questioned this night?” He muttered.

She sat up a bit straighter. “No, really, why?” He looked to her with a questioning glare, and she continued: “Why keep me alive? What do I mean to you?”

“Before? Nothing at all. Now? Now, you are a great mystery, your origin… concerning.” He said this as if he was speaking to himself.

“But why not just kill me?” She pressed, her question punctuated by a large yawn. She looked up at Megatron with sleepy eyes. “Why? I’m a potential threat.”

“Don’t flatter yourself.” He scoffed. “You are nothing more than a pet. What _true_ harm can you do to me?”

She smiled. “I can worm my way into your cold, cold spark.”

He caught himself from stopping dead in his tracks, but he knew she caught the falter in his gait. He turned his eyes a few shades darker in preparation for his response.

But he stopped himself again, this time, outside Shockwave’s complex. They stood on the roof as before, and he took the time to look down at his rapidly fading charge. She opened her eyes to blink up at him. Her face spoke levels of smugness he hadn’t even conceived before. He could only sneer back.

“I’ll say it for you, since I know it must be hard.” Here she sat up, rolling her shoulders in a stretch before facing him fully. “I know you won’t admit it, but now, we have something in common.”

“What could that possibly be?” He practically flung the words at her, everything but his body leaning into it.

“That we both know what it’s like to see our world destroyed.” She let her face fall here, staring into her lap. “That’s our common ground. The thing that makes it hard, however, is that you’ve been the one doing the destroying on both counts.”

He didn’t need the reminder, and his fist slowly clenching around her made that known. “But,” she quickly added, “I can’t say I can hold either accounts against you. I mean, you got what you wanted in the end. Cybertron, and Earth.”

“I don’t need flattery.”

“Well, I wasn’t giving it. I’m simply stating fact. Now can you take me home?”

He again felt some deep need, some desire, that stopped him. He felt so conflicted - one side of him told him to just take her home, and another said something else entirely. He wasn’t even sure what to do. He guessed it was part of the reason he allowed her to stay.

He continued towards home. She fell asleep in his cabin smiling.

* * *

A sigh escapes her, then another. Soon, she’s tossing and turning in a mini tantrum, staring at Megatron blearily.

“Can’t we go home?” She demands. He gives her a glare, stopping in his contemplative pacing.

“I have work to do. Behave.” Then, he passed by the human’s area. Tweety grumbled, furrowing deeper into her seat. She was insulted by his dismissal. She had the hardest time not glaring at Darren who was proudly seated on Soundwave’s knee at the conference table. He was out of sight underneath the tabletop, but that didn’t matter. The boy was special, she knew, much more special than her. She felt jealously blossoming in her chest. Tossing her head, she squashed it down, rising to her feet a combing her hands through her dreads. Why did she think about him so much? _He isn’t anything but a silly boy,_ she told herself. _I can’t be getting feelings, can I?_

The thoughts made her tremble with excitement while also terrifying her senseless. She suddenly decided the whole mental exercise was pointless. She discarded it.

Contemplation in the playpen was becoming Tweety’s new pastime, she realized as she stood twisting her dreads and looking at Darren’s attentive face. He was currently listening closely to one of Starscream’s continuous rambles about the importance of his science factory. He and Soundwave were the only ones present that could manage to look interested. Everyone but Megatron looked bored, and Megatron himself appeared to be thinking of flipping the table.

And round her thoughts went again: _But no, I have to sit over here with the other idiots. _She frowned, huffing and plopping back down in her pallet. Looking at the plain walls and skylights above the windows, she decided she was becoming properly despising of this place. The slate-gray color scheme was something she usually would appreciate. But not in this mood. It made her want to gag.

She laid flat on her back, sights shifted towards the ceiling. There was something to be said about naps, she decided. The badlands had never quite been nap-conducive. Perhaps one thing about captivity was the comfort in knowledge of when one would get their next meal and that one could sleep practically whenever one wanted to.

She moved herself beneath a set of blankets, keeping her eyes shut stubbornly even as some voices began to rise above the quiet bustle. Soon after, she fell into a light sleep. She wasn’t quite sure what happened in the next few minutes, or maybe mere moments. But she was soon being roused awake.

And she heard a vaguely familiar voice grumbling somewhere above her. “… -asted human, wake up! Wake up! I don’t have time for this!”

She rose slowly, looking up at what she soon realized was an angry seeker glaring down at her. Seeing the sharp, long face, as her vision cleared, she discerned it was Starscream. What did the seeker want with her? He had never even paid her a passing glance. Either way, something wasn’t quite right, and she couldn’t say exactly what.

“Get _up!”_ He screeched. “Do you not even _realize_ what is going on?!”

She stumbled to her feet, looking around blearily, and then recognizing what was so off. An alarm blared, an almost lazy _whoop, whoop_ sounding throughout the command center. She looked back to Starscream to say something when she was snatched up quite suddenly.

“We are going!” He hissed. “Don’t ask why, I don’t have time!”

She couldn’t immediately respond; the jarring movements his servo made around her left her breathless. She wiggled about in his hand until she dropped to the floor.

He grunted, looking at his hand. Then he looked down. “What are you doing?” He gasped.

But she was already running, bare feet slapping in the empty halls as she went. She heard him rush after her, and felt it, too; his pedes shook the ground beneath her stronger with every step.

Just as she heard the air behind her swish shut, she leapt into a side hallway. He screamed at her, and she kept running.

With enough grit and determination, including doubling back beneath his nose a time or two, she finally lost him. Tweety put her hands to her knees and allowed herself a few moments to breathe. She gingerly placed a hand against her ribs and hissed. She had no doubt that Starscream had made her bruise.

She stood up, looking around. There was no one in the halls but herself - she had not seen or heard anyone while Starscream had pursued her. The only thing that seemed truly alive was the blaring alarm. Her ears had long grown deaf to it, but it still sent chills up her spine to be so alone in a place that was abandoned.

Then she began to question herself. Why did she bolt from Starscream’s hand in the first place? She had mostly been eager to get away from his manhandling, as he seemed to have no proficiency in dealing with humans safely. Megatron had roughed her up a time or two through carelessness or naivety, but he had never been anything like Starcream just was. She wondered what that meant about Marcus, and filed it away for later thought.

She began wandering the halls, perusing the rooms. She stopped from time to time to investigate further, but the longer she stayed, the more hurried her search was. The alarm was steadily becoming more unbearable - and she didn’t want to consider what the emptiness might feel like without it’s constant vigil.

Something, however, made her pause. Down a particularly dark and unused corridor, she paused in front of a door. Her head cocked and her fingers twitched. She stared up at a double-locked door, her gaze shifting to the Cybertronian etched at Transformer eye level: _AUTHORIZATION REQUIRED._

_How odd,_ she mused, moving closer. She was happy she had been brushing up on some basic symbols and numerals for the native tongues, but she was still very green. She _thought _that was the translation. But she could be wrong.

She leaned forward, taking a step, then another. Soon she was sliding her fingers along the edges of the door, feeling for drafts and listening for the hum of the computer. Feather-light dust lingered almost everywhere, except for one place. There was much less there, and that is where she slipped in a broken bobby pin plucked from the dreads piled into a bun atop her head.

She worked to find a lock or latch or possibly _anything,_ but there was only so much one could do. The longer she stayed at the door the more absorbed she became until the familiar tremors were right upon her. She looked up and balked. Stumbling, she almost fell to the floor.

“Megatron!” She shouted, trying to bristle. But his angry frown was hard to work under. Somehow, he made her feel guilty in an instant.

“Tweety,” he gave his characteristic growl, low and ominous, and then there was a pause. He dragged in a breath, “what are you doing?”

She stared up, blinking a few times. “I- I-“ She wasn’t quite sure how to explain how she ran away from Starscream. She gaped like a fish for a moment more before launching back, “Where did everyone go?”

“There was a drill. Where is Starscream?” He watched her hesitate, then barked, “Never mind, then. Why haven’t you come for me?”

“I was looking for you!“ But it’s hard to deny the truth when staring at his livid face, so she verbally backpedaled. “I- I mean… I was.” She picked her next words carefully, voice clear but soft. “I didn’t know what was happening. When I finally got my bearings no one was around.”

He huffed, looking down the corridor then back at her. “Well, then what are you doing here? What’s so interesting about this door?”

Both of them paused. She betrayed her knowledge when she looked up at the warning first. Following her gaze, he gave her a sideways glance, quirking a brow. She gulped.

“Nothing.” She said. “I’m sorry for not finding you first. I’ll do better next time.”

When he let a few beats pass between them she wondered if there was going to be a next time. Eventually, he gave a long, long sigh, crouching down to his feet. She jumped when his hand moved toward her. But he simply raised a claw to gently chuck her chin.

“Next time, I’ll make sure you are debriefed. That was my fault.” His optics were a bit dimmer than usual, but nothing else looked different about him. _That rules out that he’s sick,_ she decided, trying to understand how he just admitted blame. _I mean, he practically _apologized,_ for Christ’s sake._

His hand cupped around her, gently moving her to a seating position on the edge of his palm. Already limp with shock, she stared up at him as he moved her higher and higher. She cocked her head slightly and watched him turn and take them down the hallways towards the entrance of the building. She had to stop staring once he griped at her for impoliteness.

* * *

Darren moved forward slightly, holding his breath. He looked back at Soundwave and Megatron, making sure their masters weren’t listening. Deeming the coast clear, he looked back to Tweety. 

“So why are you here?”

Tweety grumbled something under her breath that she knew Darren didn’t catch, because she didn’t want him to. In a strange turn of events, Tweety had deduced that Megatron had decided that her and Darren’s ‘budding romance’ was a beneficial thing, since, as he had put it, they “would make cute sparklings.” Tweety was about to round on him with absolute vehemence when she stopped herself. What proceeded was a long, difficult discussion about how humans reproduced, and how she was now unable to. Megatron did not take that well. However, what scared her most was not his sudden repulsion, but the way he turned away and proceeded to mutter on about how perhaps Shockwave could fix that…

Even now, Tweety could feel her master’s interested stare as her and Darren sat together on another playdate. She knew that Darren had gotten over his hurt feelings, if the celiac-safe cookies were anything to go by. He had begun his advances again, if with more caution. And with the occasional quip.

“I think I’m here because of what _you_ did, so don’t go griping at me.” She leaned forward, snatching a mini-sandwich that was _also_ placed on gluten free bread. The thoughtfulness was almost creepy. But she did thoroughly enjoy the homemade cuisine compared to her daily microwave meals. She had never been much of a cook even if Megatron would have let her near an open flame.

“What do you mean?” Darren’s back straightened, crossed legs going stiff. “Did he…” A rather long pause where he started and stopped before finishing, “… see?”

She almost laughed listening to him fumble for words. How she hadn’t realized he was somewhat lovestruck before had her questioning her intelligence. She sighed, giving him a tired look. “Not then. He saw later. Don’t ask anymore questions.”

He blinked once or twice. “You just expect me to take that? I have questions, Tweety, lots of them, and I am going to get them answered.”

“Not by me.”

“Then fine. I’ll ask Soundwave. Soundwave knows everything.”

“Does he spy on his master?” She was being blatantly disrespectful now — she knew that in every culture speaking while chewing was impolite. “Because if he does, I might need to tell Megatron about that.”

“Okay, now we’re getting somewhere.” He smiled. “So it was private? Just you and Megatron?” She continued to chew. He pressed further, “You and Megatron and _someone else?_”

She rounded on him, grabbing him by the collar. “I will tell you once, and only once, and you better listen good.”

Still held up by her fist, he nodded. She leaned towards his grinning face, voice dipping to a whisper. “He had Shockwave hook us up to a cortical physic patch.”

Darren’s eyes went blank, then wide. “What?! He-“

She slapped a hand over his mouth and then looked to their masters. Both were now looking towards them. She smiled, releasing Darren and patting his head. “Sorry for the disturbance. He’s just a… little excited.”

She chuckled at her friend for good measure. Seeming satisfied, Megatron continued pontificating at Soundwave, and the intelligence officer dutifully gave his full attention.

Tweety turned her attention back to Darren, face stern. “Not a word to anyone. Not even Soundwave.”

“But he’ll just figure it out eventually, anyways,” he retorted, mischief making his lilt even more pronounced. She sighed, burying her face in her hands.

“But not from you. That will make me look bad.”

“Fine, but now you’re telling me _exactly_ what happened.”

Tweety looked up, face paling. “It wasn’t exactly… interesting. We had an… argument. It ended up with him dragging me to Shockwave.”

“But what was the argument about?” Darren leaned forward, his face serious. “I mean, what drove him that far? I know Megatron can be brash - I’ve seen it. One time, no one was talking, everything was peace and quiet, and _boom!_ Right in the middle of command he shot at Starscream. Shot at him. With his _fusion cannon._ Trust me, I know.”

He looked at the warlord, Tweety following his gaze. His voice lowered a decibel. “But… really? You did something to drive him that far?”

Tweety stared for a long while. She blinked a few times, her gaze moving elsewhere. “I…”

Darren leaned forward. “What did you do?”

She felt her palms going sweaty. She flipped her dreads over her shoulders, looking towards Megatron. Her voice was so low he strained to hear it. “I… made him think I was an autobot spy.”

Darren froze. Moving back to life, he scooted closer, closing the distance between them. She could hear his breathing. “Really?”

“Really.” She gave the hulking gray mass a sideways glance, her fingers twitching in her lap. “I don’t think I’ve ever been more scared in my life.”

“But why did he think that?”

Her shoulders slumped inward, and her chin closed closer to her chest. “I…”

“No, it’s okay,” he stopped her, sitting up straighter. “That… Sorry.”

“It’s okay.” But she didn’t answer his question. She noticed how that made him a bit antsy - she saw the disappointment flash in his face for a brief moment before he tried to seem sympathetic again. They sat in silence for a few moments before Darren looked over at her, his eyes in that peculiar state of softness and depth that she remembered seeing them in when she apologized. “Is he- uh, convinced you’re not a spy?”

She gave a quick nod, her brows raising. “Yes, yes he is.”

He was silent for a few moments more. Then: “What’s it like getting patched?”

She at first thought she was going to shiver in repulsion when she thought about the true _feeling_ of getting patched, but sitting there then, she didn’t quite have that response. No, she was more or less… _uncaring_ of exactly what it felt like. She was so worried about what had been happening between her and Megatron that during those few minutes, she had not been thinking of the invader inside her brain. She assumed most would obsess with the intrusion. As she contemplated this, looking at Darren, she knew that he must have been one of those people by his trepidation. His breath stilled for those few seconds, face low in sympathy.

“Not… _bad, _I guess.” Tweety ventured, looking up at the ceiling as she spoke. “The worst part was when Shockwave started talking - that hurt. That hurt a _lot, _for some reason. But I think it’s more about what _happens_ inside there that matters, I guess. They drugged me. Apparently human brains are so chaotic - at least chaotic to Cybertronians, since their processors are pretty much big computers with file systems like any old machine - that it can literally drive them mad if they spend too long in there. So Shockwave watched the whole time while Megatron… interrogated. He never found anything to say I really was a…” And her words quieted here as Megatron laughed from the living room, carrying on loudly, “… spy.”

Darren still seemed sympathetic, staring down at their feet now. “I can’t imagine.” Looking up, he stole into her eyes in that way that was so kind, it made Tweety uncomfortable. “I mean… I wouldn’t want Soundwave rooting around in my head. Who knows what he’d find? I don’t care who you are - badlander or a British runt, I’d think everyone has some secrets, don’t you?"

She nodded. “Definitely. I don’t know of someone who doesn’t have skeletons in their closet.”

He paused, cocking his head. “What’s that mean?”

She paused too, then laughed. “Oh, it’s an American saying, I guess. Means that you have… demons hanging around, y’know? Old problems that are part of the past but that still haunt you.”

His eyes went sad. “Heh, yeah. I get that. I’ve never heard any other American I know say it before, though.”

“Well you’ve probably not been around enough then.” She reached for a cookie, leaning back and munching away as if the conversation was over.

But Darren still seemed like he had something to say. Something somber, by the way he held his head and shuffled after her. “I got some of them closet skeletons too, then. Did you know I had a sister?”

Tweety paused processing her cookie, then gave it another few chews, then paused again. “No.” She said through her food.

Darren didn’t seem to notice her uncertainty. “Yeah. Her name was Clover. She was pretty. Blonde hair and these silver-green eyes. She was a half-sister - we had the same dad. Never got to see him, really, we only learned we were related by chance. That’s the way it goes in the compounds.”

Tweety had long ago swallowed the bite of her cookie and had rapidly lost interest in the rest she held in her hand. She leaned back in as Darren continued.

“How both her and I ended up there is by my ass of a father’s ‘kindness,’” Darren looked at her, hurt in his eyes. “In the commercial world, where everyone’s a slave, some of the humans think it’s a better life to be a pet. Back on Earth, we heard they got better fed, warm places to sleep. It sounded like a ticket out of the dirty camps and piles of shit we were sitting on. So, when my dad got my mom pregnant, he made a deal with the enforcers.

“It’s almost a death sentence to any kid born when they’re an unauthorized, unplanned accident, and one that’s not a “genetically matched” child. Meaning, the scientists overseeing population control didn’t pick the parents. Shockwave started those protocols and procedures after he started his research on human genetics. After he started makin’ some damn strong lil’ babies, Megatron decided they were law. And any kid born outside of those perimeters was to be killed as soon as they were found.

“So, when they found out my mom was pregnant, they tried to stick her with the needle. Y’know, _the_ needle. The one that kills the baby. But dad jumped in right in the middle of the procedure. He was friends with one of the doctors overseeing their sector, and he tried to reason with him. Said I could be sent to the pet breeding compounds. No one would ever know, he reasoned.”

“But wait-“ She said here, uncertain, “what’s the difference between the pet breeding compounds and the breeding facilities your parents were in? And what’s a puppy mill?”

“The puppy mills and the pet breeding compounds are the same place.” Darren droned on, his voice tired, as if he had explained this a thousand times. “We call them the puppy mills, which is what they are. Puppy mills. The main facilities - the really, really big places they house humans, you would’ve _had_ to have seen one even in the badlands - that’s where the working class population is held. There’s hundreds, if not thousands of them, all over the world. I think there’s some abandoned ones on the outskirts of the badlands. They tried to farm that place, but it just didn’t work.

“Now,” he sighed, “where was I? The enforcer listened, when my dad busted in and did what he did, yeah? He put me there after I was born. Eventually, my sister showed up when I was about ten."

“But wait.” Tweety raised a single finger, and Darren face palmed. “How could you have ended up in the _same_ puppy mill? Like, really, how?”

“Because Megatron only allows so many humans to be imported, so there’s only _one.”_ He grumbled a bit and looked at her. “Now will you let me tell you my story and stop being so concerned with the logistics of it all? I don’t tell this stuff to everyone, y’know.”

She seemed surprised, then sheepish, looking at the floor with a blush and then nodding faintly.

Darren smiled. “I talked to her because she seemed so sad. We got to talking, and it clicked that we were related. I never had heard the story of how my dad ‘saved’ me when he did what he did, and she’s the one who told me. I really don’t know if it’s all true or not… I almost don’t care.” Tweety noted how his eyes had suddenly turned dark. “It is what it is.”

But he seemed to muster himself up, lifting his head and continuing. “Y’know, I don’t know exactly how old she is. I only learned my birthday after Soundwave got me. I guess we don’t really care when we’re in the compound, don’t get to have a party, anyways. But I do think she was a few years younger than me. Maybe she was six or seven when we met. But I never saw her again after she got shipped out about a year before I did. I mean, God — she screamed so loud when they tore her away from me. Tweety, I don’t know if you have family that you left in the badlands, but it’s the worst feeling you’ve ever had. I couldn’t help but be angry at my father then. He was so careless falling in love with all these women. I never met the man, I don’t even know his _name._ But how could he do that? _Twice?”_

Tweety blinked long and hard for several moments. “I don’t know, Darren. I really don’t.”

“I mean, c’mon, Tweety,” Darren sighed, blowing hot breath across her arms folded in her lap. “Maybe it’s hard for you to see. Maybe I’m just looking for someone to blame, but why couldn’t he have just let us _die?_ I have no idea where she is or how she is. And neither does he. She can’t be as good off as me - she just _can’t. _Didn’t he stay up at night after I was born wondering what would happen to me? Didn’t he run all the horrible scenarios through? Because I have with my sister. And if he really did all that thinking after I was born, he would have had to know what he was gonna do if he had another _accident._ He would have known he was going to let things lie, and just let his kid go. He would have _known._ So, I can only guess he just forgot us. Completely.”

Tweety sat and watched him for awhile. She didn’t know if she completely understood, and the way Darren held himself made her quite nervous. The boy huffed and then sat completely still. His eyes were deep and thinking.

“I… can sympathize.” Tweety admitted, blinking her owlish blink. “I don’t think that I understand completely, but I can understand the pain. Everything about this… it’s all wrong.”

Darren looked up, his smile sad. “For some of us.”

Tweety’s eyebrows rose, her face growing more and more incredulous. “What do you mean… ‘for some of us?’ I think it’s for _all_ of us. I mean, I’m getting brain-raped, you’ve lost your sister and who knows where she is… How is everyone not experiencing injustice?”

And here, Tweety sat back on her haunches, arms folded across her chest. “I have to hand it to the Deceptions, though,” she looked towards their masters sitting at the coffee table. “And it’s probably the only reason why I can stand Megatron… it’s that he had a great plan. I mean, a _great_ plan. I can’t help but respect him for it. The only history of the war I’ve ever heard was from the badlands, but even those stories are impressive. He’s crafty, I’ll give him that.”

Darren seemed thoughtful. “So… you just like him because of his brain?”

She thought about that too. “Yeah. I do.”

“Well, I guess you have something in common then. I think you’re both quite the intellectuals.”

Tweety stopped here. “What do you mean?”

“Well,” the boy began with a raunchy grin, leaning forward. “I think I’m not the only one who heard about your great escape during the drill. I mean, maybe not so much fellow intellectuals as you both are just _feisty._ Who else would have squeezed out of Starscream’s servo and let the bugger chase ‘em for half an hour?”

Tweety processed two things: first, that everyone must know about what happened during the drill, which was slightly ominous. She filed that away for later, however. Second, that Darren, albeit quite lazily, was trying to complement her.

She would add a third fact to these processes: that she actually _liked_ it.

“Well,” she countered, “I guess we do have that in common. But… don’t you think that might actually make us _clash_ more? Like, we both hate each other for our attitude. Darren, my friend, you don’t _know_ the things he’s done to me. The words we’ve had.”

“I can imagine. But you non-feely types don’t really care, probably.” Darren held a hand to his chin, drumming the fingers of the other hand on his thigh. “You’re feelings don’t get in the way. I bet between you two it’s just like a dominance, human verses mech sorta thing.”

She nodded along with his words, and continued to add her thoughts on there relationship. Throughout the rest of the playdate, Tweety couldn’t help but feel more and more attached to the British boy. His eyes went kitten-soft at the gentlest mention of her pains. His voice also whooped in triumph at her stories, during which the climaxes he stilled in anticipation. She had never been sure of Darren’s attachments toward her, or the way he seemed to scoot closer at every opportunity. But today, she realized, that she might just like the boy back.

When she looked over at their master’s once, she noticed Megatron watching them. He wasn’t smiling nor frowning, simply observing. His piercing, wolf-like gaze disturbed her.

And when she felt herself mentally jump to protect those new-found affections for the boy, she knew she was in trouble.


	10. Highly Illogical

This would take awhile. It was apparent to her by the way Megatron danced around Soundwave like an angry child; both were engaged in the moment, silent determination rolling off Soundwave’s frame. As for Megatron, he was, as usual, expressive. His shoulder’s hiked aggressively, his sword swiped with precision and wit befitting of a conqueror of worlds. Soundwave’s ninja-like movements fitted well with Megatron, like a panther poised against a lion, and Tweety watched them attentively.

Then, she let out a rather large yawn.

_Boys,_ was all she could think, the clanging and stomping going on in the training room about to drive her mad. She rolled onto her side, watching the ceiling above. _It’s even the same across species - testosterone is universal._

Sighing, she reached for a data pad that Darren had loaned her last week during their luncheon. He had been surprised to learn that she could read despite being born in the badlands. (At least, she assumed she had been born in the badlands - one might never know. And she intended to let Darren keep thinking that way for the time being.)

The dark mop of hair had immediately scuttled off, kicking up pillows and blankets in his wake - “I know exactly what you need to do when you’re so bored - read!” - and soon returned with armfuls of his specially-made human sized tablets. Loaded onto many of them were Soundwave’s work assignments. She had to hold herself carefully to not show her jealousy at the sight, but she had been quickly distracted when Darren threw one at her. “I hope you like classical,” he eased into a smile. His eyes twinkled underneath hair that had been steadily growing into a mullet of sorts. _“Dante’s Inferno_ is your first assignment.”

And treat it as an assignment she did. The Inferno had proved itself to her as one man’s proverbial slap to the face for the whole of his society - both for Dante’s era and those before his time. “Why else would a man describe the specific torture for his colleagues and the specific reason _why?”_ She cried to Darren. “And his self-righteous hand doesn’t stop there, oh no! — He’s going to pull historical and fictional characters from the _past_ as well and throw them into eternal suffering and damnation. I mean, what the _hell, _why not throw Judas Iscariot into the ever-chomping mouth of Satan?”

She gave the Inferno it’s chance, but when he thrusted the Purgatorio at her, she flinched away like it was a frying pan full of popping grease. That’s how she had ended up with the diaries of Anne Frank. She stuck her nose over the data-pad once more to look at Megatron. She caught his glance at her, before Soundwave suddenly had him on the floor. She snickered.

Megatron struggled and fought his way back to his feet without Soundwave’s assistance. Everyone knew he was too proud to accept help up; it was dangerous to offer it, in fact.

Starscream, Thundercracker, and Skywarp sat in a corner with the coneheads, a trine that had been stationed on one of Cybertron’s moons during the war and had been called back to Cybertron after Optimus Prime’s death. Seekers kept with other seekers, Tweety had noticed. The human had been gleaning much information about the politics of Decepticons in the past few weeks.

For example, she knew Megatron only sparred with Soundwave when he had something he was mentally chewing on. She could only assume he was still thinking about their patch. He presented himself before Soundwave once more, squaring his stance. She knew he had been a bit more… warm, with her, as of late. She now even was _outside_ the playpen - well, the training room didn’t have a playpen. But she dismissed that. He was allowing her to be unsupervised, anyhow, without him or one of his goons looming over her. Wasn’t that worth something? Her data pad was now forgotten among her blankets as she watched the two launch back into battle.

Soundwave swiped, Megatron ducked. _Does he really trust me now?_ The warrior barreled forward in a spin, footwork immaculate, rotation precise. _What does he even want with me?_ Soundwave’s parry was almost too quick to see, the characteristically silent mech almost a blur. _Why do I even care?_

And here, she got it. It slammed into her, causing her to sit up straight. She actually _cared._ Surprise morphed her features, then horror, as the reality of it sunk in.

_I don’t _want_ to be here!_ She demanded of herself. _I don’t want to be a trinket - not a toy, nor an accessory. I am more than that. I have _dignity _to keep._

Her inner mantra continued on as she watched Megatron scramble to keep Soundwave away, in a constant state of spinning and ducking away. _I don’t want this. I don’t want this._ Her own thoughts were so furious she almost didn’t notice when Megatron suddenly stalled mid-step. Soundwave continued to move forward to strike.

By the time she realized something was irregular, he was already on the floor. He didn’t make a sound when Soundwave hit him, but his face was warped with pain, servo clutching his chest. Soundwave seemed so stunned he simply didn’t know what to do.

The surveillance officer stood for a moment before seeming to realize himself. “Lord Megatron! Are you alright?”

His voice carried across the busy training room and beckoned the attention of anyone who hadn’t seen yet. Soundwave’s baritone was not heard often. It had not once been heard between the fall and restoration of Cybertron, and when someone spoke so rarely, their voice was listened to and respected.

The room was suddenly on the move, converging on Megatron. Tweety found herself following the flow. Before she knew it, she was a dozen feet away, skittering to a halt when a pede stepped down in her path. She looked up, darting around the giants; she had to see, had to know, was Megatron-

She only saw him as Knockout lifted him to his feet with the help of Breakdown, and only a glimpse. He grimaced and grunted as they drug him across the floor towards the doors. _His chest- it’s not… nothing’s wrong with it._ She thought Soundwave had stabbed him, but his frame was not marred.

“Clear a path! Give us some room!” Knockout’s usually cool and haughty voice had gained an edge. Tweety followed a few paces behind, trotting between legs. She looked up to watch the curious faces of the Decepticons watching. Some seemed worried. Most seemed critical.

She caught a glimpse of Starcream’s clutch. For all his whining and complaining, she had to note that he was one of the few who didn’t look like a hungry wolf. His wings stood up brightly, face alert. One of his subordinates leaned over and whispered something, a smirk on his face. Starscream rounded on him, snapping away in Vosian, but he caught himself, and the moment seemed over before it was started. He watched Megatron leave the room from the corner of his optics.

Tweety turned back to Megatron and the medics to see that they were already out of sight. She took off in a sprint after them, legs pumping to keep up. Around the corner she turned to see them moving down another hallway. She pursued up until she turned to see Knockout taking advantage of the quiet hallway to look directly into Megatron’s spark.

Tweety paused, watching curiously but also trying to look very small. She knew Cybertonian’s exposed sparks were almost like the equivalent of stark nudity for Cybertronians, but something kept her from looking away. Perhaps it was the heat of the moment, or perhaps it was intuition. But she soon realized that either way, something interesting was happening. Something _very_ interesting.

“… why you need to keep it under control!” Knockout was in a rare fit over something besides his own appearance. Everyone who actually knew the medic understood he actually took his office seriously, something she had gleaned from the doctor and nurse’s own pets. Tweety moved a bit farther away as Megatron took the berating silently, huffing as Breakdown injected a syringe directly into his main fuel line.

“It’s not something easily controlled, now is it?” Megatron was able to snap back, if a bit lamely. “You’re the medic. You’re supposed to provide alternatives.”

Knockout seemed ready to launch into another tirade before Megatron steeled him with a look that reminded him of his place. Knockout grumbled and fumed a moment or two before turning to regard him again. “We have discussed this, my lord,” he said in almost a sing-song, his mouth turning into a crooked smile. “There are two options: increase your spark’s energy intake by bonding, or up the dosage.”

_“Neither_ are options.” Megatron growled, pushing both of them away and striding about in the corridor. He soon tired himself out again, however, and found the farthest wall to lean on. “I cannot be hindered by the medications side effects anymore than I am, and the first option is _inconceivable.”_

Knockout seemed irritated, but didn’t comment. Breakdown was as quiet as ever, sub-spacing his medical tools. It seemed to have reached a stalemate; the medics watched Megatron huff and puff against the wall, and Megatron stared at the floor until the silence stretched too long.

He looked up. Knockout seemed to start a bit, clearing his throat. “I think it’s best you return home for the day, master. You will be needing your rest.”

Megatron pulled himself to his full height, if rather slowly. “I agree. I will do that.”

“Don’t forget pipsqueak over there, too.” Megatron followed Breakdown’s voice to Tweety standing in the hallway. Caught, excuses started flowing out of her mouth faster than she could concoct them, making her speech a strange mishmash of syllables.

Megatron’s more tolerable mood seemed to not be affected by his attack. He marched forward and gently plucked Tweety off the floor without comment, moving towards the exit. The girl looked up at him, dumbfounded, and more than a bit sheepish.

“So… what happened back there?” She had already latched onto his thumb. She had been hesitant to do so before, but since the patch, it had felt rather comfortable.

“None of your business.” Megatron snapped. It surprised her a bit, but didn’t sting as it usually did. It wasn’t as spirited as his usual remarks.

“Well, y’know, if you’re gonna croak on me, I’d at least like to know so I can make arrangements.”

He looked at her. Hard. “You’d just love it if I died, wouldn’t you?” Before she could protest, “There is no need for you to be concerned. It is not your place, human.”

She paused. “I just… forget it.” She huffed and turned off to the side, less hurt than simply miffed by his subborness. He watched her from the corner of his vision, keeping his pace. Tweety felt her jaw tick, her eyes squint; it was slower than usual.

She knew the hallways so well at that point she didn’t really pay attention to where they were going or what path they took. At least, not until they were in the swell of the main ways. Megatron usually had a path cleared for him, but it was rush hour, and there wasn’t any room for mechs to move. Along they swam through the pushing and shoving river of armored warriors until Tweety could feel Megatron’s hand heating beneath her. He wasn’t having it.

And then, a voice. It jumped just above the noise. “Lord Megatron! Lord Megatron!”

He turned, Tweety’s gaze following his. To her surprise, Rosegold stood in the doorway leading to Darkmount. The mouth was considerably more quiet than the rest. Tweety felt Megatron pause, thinking, then shift forward.

When they were a few paces away from the bouncing maid, she began shouting again. “Lord Megatron, I know you’re not well, but a mech wishes to see you at the Iaconian gardens. He says it’s urgent.”

“Urgent?” Megatron scoffed. “What could be so urgent that he can’t come to _me_ instead?” Tweety even felt her own brows pinching. It was rather odd.

Before any more suspicion could arise, however, Rosegold’s optics paled a bit more. “It’s about the chasms, my lord. The mech says it’s… urgent.”

Tweety hadn’t seen Rosegold in a few days - it seemed they had spent a lot of time at Headquarters as of late. But she wouldn’t have forgotten Rosegold’s dignified manner and cultured words around Lord Megatron in that time, and it was strangely absent at that moment.

Megatron didn’t give it anymore thought. “Take Tweety home, then.” Whatever Rosegold had been trying to convey, Megatron had understood.

He tilted his hand forward, and Tweety slid into Rosegold’s without fuss. He turned and strode off into the masses without another word.

It left the two females standing dumbly. Just as Tweety was about to say something, Rosegold turned abruptly, back towards Darkmount.

They sat silently, long enough for the noise in Headquarters to fade away completely. Then, Tweety looked up at the woman. “What’s going on?” Her voice was almost a whisper, her hand clenching a bit tighter around Rose’s thumb.

Rosegold looked down, startled, as if she was in a trance. The femme hesitated. “I don’t know if I can tell you.” A pause. Then, “It’s… it’s not what you think.”

“What do you mean it’s not what I think? You said it’s about the earthquakes, right?”

Rosegold’s lips thinned. “I don’t think… please, just don’t ask anymore questions.”

Tweety removed her hand from Rosegold’s thumb, placing it in her lap. She allowed herself to sway against Rosegold’s strides to keep her balance.

Tweety looked about the hallway they were in a suddenly noticed something. Rosegold had taken a turn they usually didn’t. In fact, Tweety had never been down these halls.

“Rosegold.” Tweety tried to keep the edge from her voice. “Why are we here?”

Rosegold didn’t respond, she just sped up. Tweety fisted her clothes.

“Rosegold,” she turned to look at the maid, “answer me. Where are you taking me?” Was Megatron actually _done_ with her? Tweety was scrambling to understand. She knew something here wasn’t right the moment she had been alone with Rosegold. Was Megatron finishing her off?

Rosegold wasn’t providing any answers, anyhow. The maid slowed, facing a doorway. She punched in a code, and suddenly the bright daylight of Iacon shone down on them.

The femme did not pause, continuing on towards an alley. A main street buzzed to their left, perhaps a few hundred yards away. Besides that, they were alone. Tweety knew she couldn’t call for help. And who would listen?

“Rosegold, what are you doing? Talk to me.” Tweety tried to think she could draw upon their growing friendship, but it didn’t seem to be working. “What’s going _on?”_

They were a few feet in the alley, and Rosegold stopped. The weight of the buildings was distracting to Tweety, making it hard to watch the maid as she leaned against a wall and held her shoulder. “Tweety, you have to understand, I didn’t _want_ to do this.”

Tweety stared up at her in a slowly growing horror. She didn’t have time to say anything before a doorway further up the alley swung open. She whipped around to look.

A sharp pain pierced her neck. She didn’t have time to identify the figure before she felt herself go lame. She fell into Rosegold’s lap with a small _thump_, staring up through blurring eyes to see the maid grimace. “I’m sorry.” She whispered, then blackness.

* * *

Tweety woke slowly. The sounds around her buzzed faintly, indecipherable. The only thing she really could hear was that of her thudding heartbeat.

She moved to work her way into a sitting position, but a tightness around her shoulders and wrists restrained her. Despite how her head swam, she titled it to the side. Straps. She was strapped to a table.

Light glared down from above, she noticed. It made the rest of the room hard to see, but she did see a small table to the side. Tools: sharp, jagged, precise. The rest of the room had started to become clearer, but she heard her heartbeat up in tempo.

She thought of calling out for Rosegold, but something suddenly hit her. _She_ had drugged Tweety, knocked her cold. Betrayal stung, stung far deeper than the needle the maid had used. All Tweety could ask was, _Why? _What would have compelled her? She had been apologetic - it had seemed like something, or _someone_, was forcing her.

The creak of a door interrupted her thoughts. Through the darkness moved a familiar shape, the floor illuminating a hulking frame, a cannon stuck on a shoulder. They turned with their back to her, tapping away on a computer.

Her voice seemed to disappear then, but she managed to choke out a few words. “Who… are you?”

Her answer was silence. The stranger turned, a faint glow illuminating another screen. Or _were_ they a stranger?

“Hey!” The cannon, the hulking chest- “You’re-!”

He turned, his sudden movement stopping her short. They moved into the bright light, revealing a lone optic that glowed eerily against their face.

“Yes, human,” he muttered. “The only logical conclusion would be that I am Shockwave.”

She stared for a moment, but before she could say anything he had turned away again. This time, he moved closer, tools tinkling off to her side where she couldn’t see.

“But, why are you-“

“Do try to understand, human, that though I may not have Lord Megatron’s favor for a time,” he returned to her, methodically locking a scalpel into his right servo, “the research that will come from these experiments will surely be more valuable to him than you being alive for his amusement. You are not nearly important enough.”

Her eyes blinked rapidly. Research? _Experiments?_

“B-But why!” She blurted. “Why am I…”

“An appropriate subject?” He turned a blade in another hand, a very, very small saw. Well, it was very small to him. To her, it was a proper bone saw. Her throat bobbed as she gulped. “It is illogical that you would have celiac’s disease so long after I removed it from the human population. It is rather… disconcerting. I must understand why you now have it.”

He busied himself with his tools again, revving a circular saw. She jumped in her restraints, buckling against the table. “Wait, wait! Megatron- he- he will be so _angry!_ You haven’t even asked him, have you?” Her terror turned to fury, spinning her words from pleading to berating. “Why would you do this? He hasn’t said you could!” She knew this more by her gut than by what Shockwave had said; Megatron and her were finally seeming to get along. It just didn’t add up.

Shockwave paused, looking directly at her for the first time. “I have told you: Lord Megatron’s benefits from your demise will certainly outweigh the losses.”

And here, the saw moved closer, slowly hissing it’s way into motion. Shockwave’s only form of expression, his optic, stayed steady and unaffected.

“And he will certainly see that once I am done with you.”

She screamed.


	11. Lab Rats

She was nothing but _panic._

Her breaths were fast. Her body trembled. And that saw _whirred._ It would tear bone and flesh and marrow the moment it met her skin. It came closer, and closer, and he merely watched. His optic never strayed, never moved. He didn’t blink or grin or laugh or sneer. He just stared, so quiet and calm and --

So consumed by her terror, she barely registered Shockwave shut off his tool. The spinning slowed. It was as if both his instrument and him were having a silent conversation, the way they stood paralyzed together.

“Well,” finally, Shockwave spoke, his voice particularly hollow now, “it appears this will have to wait. A… situation that I deemed unimportant is more pressing than I originally estimated.”

And with that, he turned, melting into the shadows like an apparition. His footsteps receded rapidly, but she didn’t take notice. Sweat trickled down her nose and across her cheek. Another drop stung her eye. Both of them were glued to the ceiling. _I’m alive._

She mouthed the two words a few times, and as she did so, she clenched and unclenched her hands, wiggled her toes, basking in the senses heightened by adrenaline. _I’m alive._ She almost smiled, but faltered. She suddenly felt very… pitiful, in this state of gratitude for simply getting to breathe.

She humphed, shimming around in her bonds. She tilted her head to the side. It appeared her restraints were made of some kind of industrial rubber, perhaps a silicone. She rolled her head back against the metal surface of the table. She had to escape.

Her face lit up at a thought. Maybe, just _maybe,_ Megatron is looking for her, and he’s already found her. Then, she felt another surge of inspiration. _The bracelet! It’s a tracker! If-_

But it wasn’t there, no matter how many ways she twisted and contorted her wrist and head to see different angles. There was no sign of it. It had to have been removed hours ago, or long before Shockwave had brought her here. The mech was too smart for that.

And now, her brain was rushing, rotating, tumbling the past events over and over to try and make some sense of them. She wondered where Rosegold was, if perhaps she was speaking with Shockwave right now. She wondered why the maid might not be coming to taunt her victory, to boast about her craftiness and give all the spite and gaiety a captor would have, should have, that Shockwave did not. She tried to imagine the maid’s words; just how she might speak such treason against Megatron.

Tweety tried and tried and, god_dammit,_ she tried, but the vision would not form in her mind. The only thing she could make out was the ache of betrayal she had felt earlier once again pricking at her chest, suffocating. But the girl told herself even that emotion was imagined. Rosegold was a Cybertronian. She was a human. This outcome was inevitable; she had expected this all along, and it was not surprise lashing across her heart, not the hurt of blatant lies of friendship and trust. The mantra moaned on and on in her head while she stared up at the ceiling, flexing her wrists in her bonds, testing.

Those straps. They mocked her, reminding her of her impending fate. Megatron had _not_ found her yet, or he would be launching himself into the compound, tearing apart everything in sight. It would not be for her sake — it would be for his own. What was his was _his,_ she knew that with every fibre and morsel in her psyche, and he would come only out of pride and out of anger that Shockwave had stepped past those boundaries. the scientist seemed so loyal to the High Lord on every occasion she had met him. Megatron seemed to put a sort of trust in him that was reserved only for him, something that wasn’t like Soundwave’s, but still personal. And she wondered: what would drive him to betray Megatron like this? What was so important about _her?_

All the while she thought, she still twisted and writhed in her bonds. Claustrophobia suddenly felt real to her. She arched against the table, gasping, feeling as if she couldn’t breathe. The magnitude of the situation seemed to settle itself against her chest, pinning her legs and torso until she couldn’t even think about anything but her incessant need, her great want, to escape.

“I can’t breathe.” She cried into the air, entire body straining. Panic held her fast, wringing every last bright drop of sense out of her until she heard it.

She paused mid-arch, arms flexed against the table. She listened. Had that been… a voice?

“… Hello?”

And God, yes it _was._ She didn’t know whether to be exuberant or wary. She paused, waiting, eyes darting towards the gloomy haze around her. “Hello?” She called back.

Another long pause, and then, “Hi.”

They — _him,_ she corrected, for he was definitely male, she realized upon hearing clearly his high tenor — must have been a way off. His voice was distant, carrying down the corridor and into her little room with a bit of an echo. She smiled. She wasn’t alone, and it brought some warmth to her shaky bones.

“Hey.” She called back in a stage-whisper. She wasn’t too sure if Shockwave could hear them, or even if it mattered, but paranoia kept her voice soft and small.

The other prisoner didn’t feel the same way, though, apparently. “Hey!” His voice called back — young, kind — and he paused as if trying to gather himself. “So… where are you?”

“I could ask the same of you.” Relief sent her heart thumping, chest sighing in such comforting rhythms. She tried not to get used to the feeling; she couldn’t help but think about when Shockwave came back.

The stranger seemed to be of the same mind on that matter, however, and sounded so hopeful but so reserved as well. His voice was slowly becoming subdued. “Yeah, heh. I guess that was a stupid question.”

Her face contorted a bit as she tried to figure out how to ask what was on her mind. “Do you…”

She stared at the ceiling, deep in thought. What were the chances? How fortunate she was, in a way, to be within earshot of another prisoner. Perhaps, a _Cybertronian_ prisoner. Her eyes dilated, her smile faltered. She felt a plan forming over in her head. Visions of him reaching objects she could not, opening doors too high for her to reach, filled her with hesitant hope.

She looked back to her hands, flexing her fingers. Could she… just _maybe... _ could she wriggle her way out of these bonds? It seemed like she was more likely to amputate her hand than have any real success, but she had to try. She had to.

The other voice had been jabbering away a bit — she wasn’t sure exactly what he had been saying but it was distracting her. She hissed loudly. “Shh! I’m working here. Hold tight for a few.”

“But-“

“I mean it!” She spat, rubbing her hand furiously against the restraint, back and forth, generating friction like she was trying to start a fire with her bare hand. The other voice laughed, the sound altered and haunting in the lab’s spaces. She tried to ignore it.

The heat against her wrist grew. Sweat moved over her skin, turning red and raw as the rubber gripped. She gasped as suddenly her hand was stuck. She tugged harder, eyes screwing shut.

When she finally pulled her hand free, she gingerly flexed all of her joints, relieved that she hadn’t dislocated anything. She sat up on her still bound side. In her amazement, she almost missed the smallest detail sitting about two feet from her still-bound hand.

A blade. A _saw._ Sitting so, so very close to her. She gasped.

Had Shockwave left it? Her mind raced as she reached forward, doubling over her midsection and straining with her free hand, stretching, stretching. _Is he that much of an idiot?_ Was this some kind of twisted test? She curled the tips of her digits around it, triumphant. She soon sawed furiously at the remaining restraint. Her eyes darted up at a noise in the distance, and then back to her escape.

When nothing but flimsy threads was left of the rubber, she jerked hard, snapping the shackle in two. Immediately she went for her feet and repeated the process.

“… So?” The voice in the distance called again, sounding ever more curious.

“I’ll be there in a sec.” She stood, shaking her hands and feet out. She started pacing the edge of the operation table, scanning below.

“Wait — you got out?” He was hopeful; ecstatic, even.

She didn’t reply at first, still contemplating how to get down. He eventually called again. “Hey!”

“Shh!” She whisper-shouted, “Don’t you realize he might hear you?”

He didn’t respond, not at least loud enough for her to hear. She paced the side of the railing until she stooped down on her knees and found grooves in the supporting leg. Snatching her tool, she tucked the blade — serrated side down — underneath her arm and began her descent.

The callouses on her bare feet and hands ached during the climb, forced into small crevasses, and her hands still felt sore from their contortions. She paused when she found her way to the floor. The shadows made her uncertain of what might be waiting for her.

She reminded herself of the other prisoner. It was much easier to put one foot in front of the other as this idea formed in her head. She might be able to save not just herself, but someone else. She smiled.

Padding along the floor, she held her blade against her chest like _it_ needed the protecting. The air hummed with the far-off movement of Shockwave’s machines, the occasional rattle beneath her feet and in the walls making her resist a flinch. She paused after a few paces, listening. She looked up into the air and sighed. “Where are you?”

Her voice was quiet, but he apparently heard. “Here.”

She followed the sound, ducking around a corner and holding the blade outstretched. The darkness in the room seemed even more oppressive than her own. She noticed that her hands were shaking.

Tucking the saw back against her chest, she inched forward. This room was much like her own, once her eyes adjusted; shelves along the far walls, full of the dark and macabre science the doctor seemed knee-deep in. A monitor blipped silently off in the corner, and she followed the thudding light. She knew that he wouldn’t be far now.

It was so hard to see him in the darkness, so when his voice called out, “Hey,” she jumped back. Her gut leapt into her throat as she looked up and up to finally land on him. A Cybertronian. She wasn’t really surprised.

His grin tried to appease her. “Huh. Thought you would’ve been taller.”

She squinted, then her brows rose. He must have thought she had been a Cybertronian. “Well. No.” She took a moment to take him in, a long face that might have been handsome as a human, topped by a silver and ridged crest. His paint was incredibly faded, but his base color was predominantly white, and then highlighted by reds and blues.

She shuffled, lowering the saw that she now realized she had raised threateningly in his direction. She frowned. “Are you… can you move?”

It took him a second too, as she realized that was a badly phrased question due to the shackles around his hands and feet, but then he got it. She was wondering if he was hurt.

“No, no, I’m good.” He seemed to stare at her quite intently. “So, are you gonna get me-“

But then he stopped altogether, leaning forward. The bright blue of his optics bobbed all over her in the dark. He seemed speechless.

“What?” She said, holding his stare, uncertain, then darting a look down at herself. “What? Did he do some-“

“You can’t be.” He gave a breathy laugh, horror slowly turning his voice from amazement to dread. “You… _can’t_ be.”

She held his gaze, something shifting inside her. She was still. “Do you know me?”

He stared for a bit longer, blinking again and again as if to make her disappear. He pressed into the table, a meager attempt for distance. “You need to leave.”

“What are you talking about?” She snarled. _I need to get you out of here_, was left unsaid.

“You need to _leave.”_ He stressed, optics darting up towards the entrance. “Now. Before he comes back.”

She huffed, stomping forward, ignoring his protests. She began to climb onto the reclined slab, her feet slipping occasionally on the polished steel, but then finding purchase again.

“Please,” he said, then again, “_please._ You can’t let him- he’s going to-“

“I know what he’s going to do. But I’m not just _leaving_ you here.” She didn’t look at him, but she felt his eyes taking in the concerned crinkle of her eyes. Her voice was strained with confusion.

“And, two, you’re…” she paused, thinking. Did he know her? He seemed so sure — but so hesitant, staring at her like she was a ghost. She just knew in that moment when recognition first crossed his face that he _knew_ her and he was going to tell her everything she ever wondered about herself. A warmth blossomed in her sternum. _No more wondering. He’s going to tell me everything._

He sighed, leaning forward “Tweety.”

She almost jumped into interrupt him. _Ha! He does know me!_

“You need to leave. Don’t worry about me. You’re-“

She stopped, looking up at him. He faltered under her rapt attention. He made an exasperated sound, and she knew that if he had a free hand it would have rubbed over his face. And she had to wonder _why_ she knew that.

The longer she spent with him the more the feeling of familiarity nagged her, feeling more and more sure that she knew him _too_.

He looked at her. Hard. “You need to go. I mean it. You’ve no idea what he’s gonna do to you.” He paused, hesitating, slightly frantic as his eyes darted to a sound in the distance. “Please. Please just go!”

“No!” She growled back, far more vicious. She didn’t quite know if her aggression was gained from the Badlands or from life with the Decepticons, but she allowed it to seep into every word. “Why do you want me to leave you so badly?”

“Because- because- be-“ He tried to strangle the words out of himself, hanging his head. “You just need to go!”

“I’m not leaving until you tell me why I need to go.” She snipped, hefting the saw in both hands. “And while you come up with a good answer, I might as well make myself useful and aid your escape.”

He watched her, optics bulging, taking more and more frequent glances towards the doors. She appraised the restraints on his wrists. Metal, complicated locking mechanisms, far too much for her to ever saw her way through. Her eyes lifted to the console on the desk a few feet away.

“Listen.” She ignored him, going to the edge of the slanted slab, crawling her way up the incline. “Listen!” His words became more fevered.

“You’re important, Tweety.” She stopped, not turning to look, but listening. “You need to get out of here. You can’t let him kill you Tweety. Not now. Not yet.”

“Why?”

He held her gaze, optics resigned. “It’s… it’s complicated.”

“It’s _always_ complicated.” She grumbled. “Megatron’s complicated, slavery’s complicated, everything about my life has been complicated. And you _know_ me. You know _exactly_ who I am, and I don’t know why you don’t want to tell me knowledge I have a right to, but I don’t really give a shit for that reason. Whatever the hell it is,” she sighed, looking at the smooth surface of the table. Her voice wasn’t nearly as careful as his — loud and boisterous, it was as if they had switched roles.

He stared so hard at her for the longest time. His mouth formed a thin line as he leaned in, paused, and then leaned even closer, straining against his bonds.

“Cybertron,” he breathed. “It’s about Cybertron. And Optimus.”

She stared back. “Optimus… Prime? What does-“

And then there was footsteps, little mini earthquakes that ran up her shins and hands. Her head darted to the door. When she looked back at the Autobot, his face had lost its seriousness — he looked panicked.

“Get out,” he whispered. “Get out now!”

“But-“

His optics shifted from the doorway to hers. They pinned her with their intensity. “If we both _live,_ then you’ll get to hear about it,” he placed odd emphasis on _it,_ as if it was clandestine, his voice lowered past a whisper, barely a tickle of exhaust, “but the only way that’s gonna happen is if you go, _right now.”_

She almost refuted, but his logic was sound. She wanted to hear what he had to say. _Desperately_ so. And the only way that was going to happen is if they both lived through this.

The saw blade slipped from her hand and she made contact with his eyes for a moment in silent understanding. Sliding it beneath his servo, his digits curled around it, head swiveling back to the entrance where Shockwave’s steps could be heard growing closer.

She turned away without a second thought or word and made her way down the medical table. The footsteps grew closer; by the time she was on the floor, they sent small quakes through her shins as she darted deeper into the lab.

The floor was difficult for her bare feet to get traction on. It was clinically sterile, polished to a shine. She slipped as she sped through a doorway and careened to her left, darting into the other room without looking.

Shockwave’s footfalls stopped behind her, presumably at the Autobot’s berth. The mech might have made some kind of sassy remark, but she wasn’t paying attention to that. She was listening for the doctor’s voice. His cool tenor. Seeing how long she had.

Her reason started to come back to her after a few more yards of running; she couldn’t be this frantic about it. Her heart still pounded in her chest, the feeling of being hunted looming over her like the dim and eerie glow of the laboratory, but she forced herself to slow down and take in her surroundings.

It was a storage room. She trotted past shelves towering up above her, lingering a bit underneath a flickering light swinging haphazardly from up above. A steady hum thrummed the air, perhaps from the power outlets. She paused, unsure of hearing something, but kept on going. She felt like each and every breath and step was incredibly loud.

She ducked underneath one of the shelves, looking up momentarily to try and examine the contents. Glass containers. Some boxes. She moved on in the shadows, measuring her steps and her head on a swivel. The hair on her neck stood on end, and her fingers flexed, fidgety.

She stopped. She looked for an exit, something to get her out of this room. The creak from the overhead light swinging behind her was driving her mad. Something was _wrong._

She spun on her heel, checking her backside, paranoia making her blood pound behind her eyes. She turned a full circle, wide-eyed at the black haze around her. Was that a figure darting behind that doorway? Or a pair of eyes peering from that corner? She couldn’t help it: her fear was making her irrational. She took off at a brisk walk, trying to measure her breathing, trying to keep calm. Shockwave was far behind her, but it wouldn’t be that way for long. She had to make ground.

She began to walk to the other end of the room where some lights shone in a doorway. Her neck beaded with sweat underneath her dreads even though all of Shockwave’s labs were rather chill. She held her arms at her sides, poised for flight, fight, _something,_ checking her six, three, and nine far more often than she needed to. She just couldn’t help the feeling of being _watched,_ being followed, even though no steps sounded around her, no swish of air. She thought back to the creature she saw when Megatron brought her here. It was like an arachnid, eyes, legs, and all. The thought of its creepy mouth made her strides move faster.

She slowed when she came to end of the long rows of shelves. The last leg to the doorway was out in the open, unhidden by shadows. She leaned against a leg of the shelf, wrapping her hand around the corner of the intricate metal weave, catching her breath. She had been driving a demanding pace in her hurry. Her body wasn’t used to it after the months lazing about in Decepticon captivity. Megatron would have crossed this room in a matter of a dozen or so strides, but for size, it felt like a marathon.

Her thoughts went back to Megatron. When was he going to get here? She was wondering _if_ he was coming at this point. It had been hours — he must have somehow figured out where she was by now. Had Shockwave covered his trail that well? What if Megatron had already spoken to him about his missing pet, and the scientist had sent him on a wild goose chase? With every answer she deduced, two more questions took its place. The odds for a rescue were starting to feel very slim, and she decided she should act as if she was on her own for the time being.

Which she was. As she sat thinking about what she should do, it was very apparent that the ball was solely in her court — her against Shockwave and his experimental army. She wondered how the Autobot was faring just as a small skitter sounded.

She swiveled her head to the sound. Silence. She took a few steps away from the shelf, her hand leaving it reluctantly. Wandering into the open, she made her way to the door, hesitating as she looked back towards where the sound had been made. What had that been?

_Tick-tick tick._

She froze. Her heart leapt into her throat. _Tick-tick… tick-tick-tick-tick._

She began backing up slowly. Something moving in the shadows — something-

And then eight eyes blinked to life in the dark with a subtle glow, holding her stare-for-stare, unblinking, motionless, making her hands tremble and breath come quicker. It seemed like eternity that they observed each other, a spell set over them that could never be broken.

And with a hiss, the thing _lunged. _It covered the distance in seconds. She yelled, darting back beneath the shelves.

It followed, bellowing. It chased after her along the side of the shelf, unable to squeeze under. Eight legs clacked and clicked along the floor. Its movements were detached, mechanical. She ran with all her might, but it wasn’t enough to outdistance the robotic arachnid. She recognized this creature - Megatron and her had seen it during their first fateful trip to the lab. It had seemed so harmless from his servo. How wrong she had been.

It swiped a leg at her. She barely dodged, and the thing shrieked. Then it was gone for a fraction of a second, heaving itself up above the shelf, hurling down on the other side to attack her from there. Saliva slung from it’s mouth every which way. She gasped as some splattered on her calf — it burned, and she almost stumbled as she tried to see it. But she didn’t have a spare second.

She wished she had grabbed the saw from the table. _Damn my own compassion._

Shockwave’s minion kept in hot pursuit. With every stride the end of the shelf grew closer. Where would she go then? She had no way to defend herself, no way out.

She skidded to a stop and threw herself between the creature’s legs, barreling for a wall a dozen yards away. She skidded beneath the creature, and it immediately retaliated. Legs slammed down on all sides. She dodged them, pushing herself to move faster, think faster, as they came down on all sides, seeking a body to impale. She jumped back away from a final one as she rushed towards the next shelf.

It followed close behind. She was gaining ground, this time — it couldn’t follow her under the shelves, so it had to maneuver through them, knocking over glass, boxes, beakers, hissing and growling the whole way. Up and over it followed her, and she pumped her legs harder. Another shelf with a low overhead came closer and closer.

She darted into the open, going for cover. The spider-like creature screamed, and she felt it swiped a bladed appendage across the back of her thigh just as she dove for cover. She cried out, shuffling under the low overhang. The shelf jumped above her. She looked behind, seeing that it was scratching and scrawling along the entrance, growling and hissing furiously. With each shake and rattle dust settled down on her as she backed into the wall.

The eight eyes gleamed at her, empty, devoid, suddenly quiet as it stared at her. She stared right back, her heart hammering, her thigh strangely numb.

The creature moved. It ducked underneath the shelf again, lunging a bladed leg out. It almost hit her. She jumped away, and it roared, the acidic spittle flying towards her. It landed on her arms, erupting pain, and she pulled them against herself, rubbing the sticky, burning goop onto her shirt where it sizzled and steamed. She looked back at the creature. It’s mandibles prickled, a long line of saliva — _poison, _she thought — dripping from its fangs.

Then the stillness was gone. It thrashed and fought, shaking the shelf, the _tink_ of glass edging her heartbeat up just as the creature’s horrific screams were. It was wedging the cabinet up against the wall, getting itself closer to her. Or was it drilling a hole by sheer force of will? She wasn’t sure. She didn’t care. All that mattered was it was getting closer. She dodged the bladed limbs that flew themselves at her, trying to fold herself inward. A foot was snagged — the pain was sudden, drowned out by adrenaline, and she yelled angrily as she jerked it back. But it had a hold, something snagged. It’s snapping fangs were mere feet away, spitting acid and snarling. Her hands shoved into the wall behind her, and she felt something hard. She gripped it in her hand and swung.

The techno-arachnid startled, jumping back from the overhang and dragging her out with it. It shook off the surprise and bore down on her again. She swung a second time; sure of herself and the weight of her metal pipe, it connected with it’s face. This time _it_ was the one squealing. She bared her teeth, something not quite a grin, not quite a snarl.

She shook her foot from its grasp. It wheeled away, rounding again to come back. She knocked it’s legs from under it, and it slammed down with a small shriek. She pushed herself to be faster than it was, fiercer, more determined, more vicious. It reached up again, but she bludgeoned it, legs flailing, spittle flying on her face and arms, the crunch of metal, a cut here, a cut there. But her heart was pounding too hard for her to really hear or feel any of it.

She beat it to the ground, striking over and over, until it didn’t move. She pulled back when the last of the twitching stopped, nothing but sparking wires and oozing fluid. She looked around. Her hand went lax, dropping her weapon. Nothing but the hum of the lab around her could be heard, that and her haggard breath. She reached up to touch her face and pulled back blood and flecks of flesh, the wounds hot to the touch. She stumbled back, turning towards the doorway.

“Don’t think it’s that easy, human.”

She stopped, chest heaving, arm raised. Air wafted from behind her, the movement of something large. Her back slowly straightened.

“It was impressive, but my creation was merely a test. The appetizer. You have yet to taste the main course.”

She felt him stalking closer, even though he tried to keep his steps silent. She gulped. “Shockwave, I-“

She was swept up by a fist, lungs jamming into her throat with the action. She gasped for air.

“Silence, human.” And here, she heard it: the first traces of emotion. Irritation slowly building on anger. “Whatever nonsense you have to say will have no bearing on what is about to transpire. You _will_ die tonight.”

“But why?!” She struggled, frustration fueling her fight, as he began to walk. Her legs swayed in the cold air whooshing past. “Megatron- he’ll-“

“Megatron has been blinded!” The scientists’ shout shocked her still in his hand. His voice dripped hate, spitting out the words carefully and precisely. “He is _infatuated._ Deceived, won over by your schemes. _All_ of Command is. Their carrier protocols have been activated. They don’t see you as the pests you are anymore. Skywarp should have never been allowed to keep that disgusting decrepit, for then a precedent was set, which led to illogical conclusions and evaluations.”

Suddenly, the fist was open, and she fell several feet to a metal slab. She tried to scurry away, but the hum of a weapon charging stopped her. She looked up past his gun to look into his optic. For once, she saw emotion in it: blinding anger. “The only hope for the entirety of Cyberton’s political infrastructure is to get their mind _off_ of you lower lifeforms, and back on track to Cybertron’s restoration. There are more riots brewing, more collapses forthcoming. And if I do not stop this here, starting with the head, _you_,” the gun jutted against her chest, energy burning hot through her shirt, “it will never be corrected. And once you are removed, Megatron will come to his senses. I am sure of it. Logic has never failed to convince him before.”

The optic simmered. “And your genetics contribution to my research will not be a small bonus.”

“You bastard.” She growled. “You just want his attention for yourself. Has it been awhile since daddy gave you attention, Cyclops?” She sneered. “I can see the wanton lust crawling up and down your frame. You get off on this, don’t you?”

The cannon pressed closer into her chest, pushing her back a step. His optic leaned in. “Do not mock me, human. I will not be distracted by such illogical trite. I _will_ reach my objective.”

Suddenly, she was flipped onto her back, arms splayed above her. Restraints locked around her wrists and she watched him exchange the cannon for a saw blade, the mechanism whirring to life. Experiencing near-death a second time at the hands of the scientist did not make it any less terrifying. Her eyes bulged from their sockets. The sweat beading around her forehead slipped into her eyes, stinging.

“It is illogical, but… I will enjoy this.” The blade descended downward. “If not for the good of the cause, then to watch you suffer.”

“That is very sad to hear, Shockwave.”

The saw shut off. Shockwave straightened, looking over his shoulder. Tweety followed his gaze past the gloom. A figure was haloed by the light the corridor offered, standing hunched, shoulders hiked high, hands clasped behind it’s back. Her breath hitched.

“For if you wish to hurt what is mine, my _property_,” Megatron prowled into the room, steps shaking the ground like rumbling thunder, “then I can assume that means you wish to hurt _me._ What is mine is _mine_, Shockwave, despite how you think I need to be shown a lesson.”

“My-my liege,” Shockwave’s monotone made his stutter painfully apparent. “Never was my-“

“Intent? Don’t speak to me of intent, Shockwave,” the warlord growled, stopping several steps from the surgical table. “Your _intent_ was to rob me. And I do believe the penalty for theft of a Deception officer, by the laws laid when we reestablished a body of government, was death.”

His cannon arm raised. The whirr charged up. “And I intend to carry the law out here and now.”

Shockwave’s body was in action as soon as Megatron moved. The restraints snapped open. Tweety was plucked from the berth to his chest. Her arms pinned beneath his fingers, suffocating, he held her in an iron fist.

“Try to shoot, Megatron. I _dare_ you to. For if you do, you will take your precious pet out, as well.”

Megatron’s aim didn’t falter. But the room was still for a long, long moment, while Shockwave’s servo tightened further around her and Megatron’s eyes grew colder. It was like a trance.

That is, until a loud _tap-tap_ came from somewhere near Shockwave’s shoulder. Tweety and the scientist spun their heads around to look. The Autobot peered up at Shockwave.

“Don’t mean to bother, but thought you might want this back.” He held up the small saw. Then he shrugged, grinned, and raised his fist. “Along with _this_.”

Shockwave whirled a moment too late. The Autobot was upon him, servo connecting with his jaw. The world tipped as the scientist teetered, dropping her.

She landed several feet below onto the gurney, the fall knocking the air out of her lungs. Shadows danced above her as the mechs grappled. She groaned, curling in on herself, peeking between her arms to watch the Autobot receive a terrible thrust in his middle. He doubled over at the blow, grabbing the table for balance. The surface shook, and she scrambled away from the edge when she almost fell.

The room lit up as a blast sounded. Everything was still, until Shockwave staggered away, then fell. Tools above the gurney rattled at the shock.

Megatron rushed forward. She couldn’t quite see him; the light positioned above the gurney made it hard to look up. His servo reached forward, cupping around her, lifting her to his chassis.

“Tweety.” She didn’t quite respond, and he shook his hand to jostle her. “Tweety!”

“Here, here,” she gasped, sitting up on her palms, and he pulled away from the bright light when he noticed her squinting. She looked away from him. Shockwave’s body had a distinctive hole in the chest, smoke wafting from the crackling edges of his spark. His optic was dark, fingers twitching.

“Tweety, look at me.” Megatron’s claw pinched her jaw, bringing her back around to him. He brought her up to his face, his darting optics startlingly close. She tried to push his face away, tried to get space, but he ignored her to rake over every inch as his digits poked and prodded. “Are you hurt?” He breathed, voice uncharacteristically soft. The tip of his digit grazed over the wounds on her face, making her hiss. “Where did these _burns_ come from?”

“I’m fine,” she mumbled, pulling away, trying to look him over as well. He didn’t appear to have been in a scuffle, at least not recently. He was as he had left her earlier that cycle. _Or at least as the last time I saw him,_ she thought. _I don’t really know what day it is anymore._

He pulled her away, locking onto her eyes. “Tweety, did he hurt you?”

“Megs, seriously,” she laughed, the sound short and forced, “I’m _fine._ More than anything I want a bath and then bed. Now- “

But she paused, looking around. Megatron looked around with her. She mumbled, “Where’s-“

Megatron was already cocking his fusion cannon. “Stay here. Soundwave will come for you.”

She was dumped on the gurney again, and the mech stormed out of the room. “Wait!” She shouted after him, and he paused in the doorframe.

“The Autobot must be apprehended.” Megatron’s optics had gone hard again. He unsheathed his sword, and then he was gone.

She stared in the empty space his bulk had taken up for a few moments. Just as soon as the lab had been full of activity, it was now quiet again, letting the hollow feeling envelop it once more. She looked down at Shockwave’s sparking chassis, sitting down, curling her knees into her chest.

Her eyes never left the corpse until Soundwave came.

* * *

She shivered when a mech rushed by, unaware of her. He brushed so close she might have been knocked to the ground. She scooted a bit further away from the tabletop’s edge.

She had been there for hours. Soundwave had come as Megatron had promised — and quickly dumped her into a “safe” zone outside of Shockwave’s labs as the investigation began. She was surrounded by busy, huffy Cybertronians, so she assumed that they assumed she wouldn’t be quick to rush anywhere.

She hadn’t seen plate or piston of Megatron since he had left her on the gurney with Shockwave’s body for company. She didn’t quite know what the ache in her chest was; whether anger or hurt, she knew it would be fixed if he would come sit with her. At least for a _minute._ Why was the Autobot so important? It was just _one_ Autobot. He couldn’t possibly re-start the war all by himself.

So, she sat, cold, grumpy, with only a blanket around her shoulders to fight the early morning chill. Iacon was still asleep, but was slowly waking. She whittled away the time noting each light that flickered on in skyscraper windows across the street, mech’s rousing from deep slumber. She knew that _she_ should be sleeping, but her ordeal chased any notion of that away. Her heart had slowed, but her brain still turned and whittled each problem into oblivion, finding fault with each move she had made in the lab, which turn she should have taken, how long she should have hesitated here or there. She still felt Shockwave’s cold servo squeezing the life from her. She still could hear the screeches of the horrendous experiment of his.

_Dear God just make it stop._ Her hands cradled her head as it bowed into her knees, kneading her hair against her scalp. _Just make it stop. Make it stop._

“Tweety?"

She paused, jerking to motion as she raised her head towards the voice. _Darren._ His eyes were still misted over with sleep as he stumbled from Soundwave’s outstretched palm onto the table. He rushed forward, grabbing her by the shoulders. “Tweety, dear God, Tweety… what happened to-“

He grabbed her face, and she hissed, pulling away. The burns weren’t so fresh, but they still stung to the touch. With how everyone stared and gasped at them, she honestly wondered what the damage was. Were they… disfiguring? Were they _permanent?_

Darren yelped some sort of apology, leaning away and then right back in, touching her, brushing her dreads away from her face. Never had he been so personal before, she mused absently. And neither had Megatron. Her thoughts wandered to the mech even as Darren started speaking, holding out food and offering water.

“Tweety.” He crouched and shuffled next to her. She looked down to their touching thighs. “Tweety… are you listening?”

Her eyes dared to meet his for the first time since he had arrived. He held her gaze for a few moments, discerning as ever. At the end of it, he sat back, sitting cross legged next to her as she returned her attention to Cybertron’s waking skyline. She watched a group of jets flock in the distance as Darren turned back to Soundwave, whispering something about “shock” and “waiting for her to come around,” but she didn’t much care.

In fact, she only really cared about where the _hell_ Megatron was. The hurt in her chest intensified, solidifying into definite anger. What was going on?

She looked at Darren. He was still preoccupied with Soundwave, something quiet and ever familiar drifting between the two. The pressure behind her eyes and heart that she sometimes felt when she watched them like this started up.

“Where is Megatron?”

They stopped talking, turning to her. Soundwave, standing so far above them, seemed to melt into the backdrop as Darren slid closer. He twiddled his thumbs, but looked her in the eye. “He’s leading the hunt.”

“What hunt?” Her chest throbbed.

Darren blinked a couple of times. “The Autobot. The one that assaulted you.”

Tweety’s thoughts halted. _Assaulted… me?_ “He didn’t assault me.” She replied decisively, flicking her dreads over her shoulders as she squinted at the passing procession of armed guards. “He _saved_ me when Megatron couldn’t.”

Darren paused. His hands rested themselves in his lap, quiet for a minute before he continued. “Well… that’s not what it looked like on the security cameras.”

Tweety’s eyes flashed, head whipping back to him. Her eyes locked onto his first, and then to Soundwave’s. She held the security officer’s gaze.

“Sure. I’m sure that’s what you were told.”

The longer his master and friend’s staring contest lasted, the more uncomfortable Darren seemed. He rocked a bit, finally looking up between the two. Just as he was about to open his mouth to say something, Soundwave abruptly turned and walked away.

Tweety burned holes into his retreating back as Darren blew a breath between pursed lips. “Y’know,” his eyes laid on the skyline, “that those guys _are_ our masters, right?”

Tweety harrumphed, laying her hands over her knees and refusing to meet Darren’s gaze as he looked at her. A few beats passed and she turned to him. Her eyes blazed.

“He wasn’t trying to _hurt_ me. He was trying to _save_ me.”

Darren nodded. “I know. But-“

“But _what?”_ Her voice rose. “If you knew, then why’d you listen to them? He was trying to save me, Darren! I might not have survived if he hadn’t been there.”

Darren sat still and quiet. She stared. “Well?”

He hesitated. After a moment, he leaned forward. “Tweety, he’s… he’s an Autobot. They’re paying for war crimes. It doesn’t matter exactly _what_ he did. It just… it doesn’t matter.”

She stared. “To them, or to you?”

He didn’t respond. She turned back to the skyline. Across the street, a factory was humming to life, mechs swarming into the entrance. The star Cybertron orbited was cresting at the horizon, painting the whole city in streaks of golden light.

They were both silent for a few minutes. Darren shifted next to her, clearing his throat. “Last I heard, the investigation in Shock’s labs were going steady. Soundwave’s reviewing the surveillance right now, and later he’ll send his report to Command. For right now, the biggest problem for all of them is the loose Autobot… and that maid.”

Tweety’s hands tightened on her knees. “What?”

Darren paused too. “What… what?”

Tweety jumped to her feet, dropping the blanket, rushing to the edge of the table closest to Soundwave. He stood with a group of enforcers several yards away. She stopped with her toes curled over the rim of the surface.

“Soundwave!” She shouted. The enforcers looked up one by one. Soundwave seemed to ignore her. She growled, sucking in another breath. “Sound-WAVE!”

The communications officer paused, then turned, his visor somehow conveying irritation. He stalked up to the table’s edge just feet from her. Her face turned up to his, fists clenched at her sides.

“Human.” His voice was monotone, but perhaps a bit colder than usual. “What exactly do you want?”

“Where is Rosegold?”

His helm twitched to the side. “She has been detained. Her execution will be-“

“I need to see her!” Tweety’s palms began to sweat. Her heart puttered a thunderous staccato in her chest.

Soundwave seemed indifferent to her distress. “She is not allowed visitors. And, of course, you would need Megatron’s permission first.”

_“Frag_ his permission.” Her chest heaved, eyes dark. The group of enforcers still watched. The tension hung heavy over her shoulders, and she swallowed thickly, trying to conjure more words, but nothing came.

Soundwave stared for a bit longer. He turned on his heel to go back to his business but looked over his shoulder a second more, seeming to debate whether to say anything else. She watched him as he finally left.

In a few beats, Darren was at her shoulder, watching her reaction as the group of mech’s Soundwave directed shuffled away, a couple giving her glances as they filed out of sight.

Darren cleared his throat. “So… why are you so worried about Rosegold? _She’s_ not guilty either?”

Tweety frowned. “No. She’s…” She groaned, fisting her shirt in her hands and stomping away.

“But why,” Darren followed, gesticulating hands displacing air around her dreadlocks and making them tickle, “would you defend her? Tweety, she _drugged you_ and took you to Shockwave!” His face softened from his rant, eyes full of pity. “Don’t you realize that… whatever Megatron decides to do to her is probably deserved?”

Her brain turned over the facts. How long had her and Rosegold known each other? The hours they had spent together in Megatron’s flat — sometimes in companionable silence, other times, in fits as the maid regaled her with outrageous stories — flickered in her thoughts. They had seemed so _close._ Her betrayal stung more and more viciously the longer she mulled over it.

“It just doesn’t make sense.” Her voice was quiet. They both stood facing the skyline again. The sun brought a breeze with it; the wind swept over her face and she blinked moisture into her eyes. She folded her arms over her chest and rubbed them. Having a second thought, she stooped down and nabbed the blanket she had abandoned earlier, bundling herself up in it again. “I don’t really think… I just don’t think that she did it willingly.”

Darren seemed to digest that before replying. “Well, I mean… I can believe you. But how will you convince Megatron of that?”

Tweety’s mouth thinned. “I really don’t know.”

Shouts sounded from behind them. Tweety turned first, eyeing the airspace above the building. Megatron’s distinct alt mode was sweeping down, fast, followed by an entourage.

She breezed past Darren to get closer. The warlord touched down first, thereafter followed by Starscream and some of his seekers. Soundwave approached his master.

“Fifteen minutes! Then we head back out.” Megatron’s voice carried easily over the bustling crowd, the flyers behind him scattering away. Tweety watched his attention flow from subject to subject before it landed on her.

His optics glowed brighter. He moved forward with purpose, coming to kneel in front of her. His servos reached up towards her face, hesitating, before he traced the burns with a digit. They had long since been dabbed with salve by a medic, but they still produced plasma. She had felt the raising of welts along the worst bits of them.

His digits continued to trail over her skin. “Has anyone seen to these?”

She harrumphed. “Not really. I mean, they put some ointment on it, or something, but…”

She trailed off as she watched Soundwave approach. The hair on the back of her neck raised. Something wasn’t quite right with the way the faceless mech held himself; it had been there before, but now, it was almost palpable.

Megatron looked over his shoulder when Soundwave stopped behind him. The communications officer dipped his head. “Lord Megatron, a word?”

“In a moment.” The warlord turned back to his charge, hand cupping around her and another digit tipping up her face. “I must see that a medic attends her.”

“I will make sure of it.” Soundwave moved himself to the side, gesturing to the small workstation he had setup. “The matter I called you for is rather pressing.”

Soundwave had no visible optics, for his visor covered his face and expressions, but she swore she could _feel_ his glare on her. She didn’t know what she had done wrong, but Soundwave’s animosity was almost visible.

She wondered if Megatron felt it too, because he glanced to her, then back to Soundwave, eyebrows raised. After a calculating moment he acquiesced. “Fine. If it is that important."

He rose from his kneel, following Soundwave far out of Tweety’s earshot. She watched them hover over the computers, speaking in hushed tones, until Darren’s hand on her shoulder shook her from her concentration.

She looked back at the boy and saw him just as focused as she was. “What do you think they’re talking about?”

She shrugged. “I don’t know. I know that Soundwave is pissed at me, though. Dunno why.”

Darren removed his hand and crossed his arms over his chest. She looked back at him. He looked like a parent disciplining a petulant, lying child. “What?” She grumbled under her breath, barely audible as she looked back to watch the two mechs.

“Oh? You have _no idea_ why Soundwave would be mad at you? It wouldn’t have anything to do with you yelling at him, wouldn’t it?”

She huffed. “Alright. I get it… But, I mean, it’s something more, Darren. It really is.”

He eyed the two mechs just as hard as she was, leaning in a bit closer over her shoulder. His eyes followed his master. “Maybe so.”

Soundwave moved closer to Megatron, the two sets of broad shoulders blocking the screen going through playbacks of security feed. Their backs were all that was visible, and several long minutes went by without much change. Megatron’s shoulders hiked, then dipped, then hiked again, something Tweety was almost sure she only noticed. She was in tune with minor, subtle changes in him after the months they had shared together. Darren likely wouldn’t understand his body language quite like she did.

But he was still almost unreadable. She eventually sat down a few moments after the two mechs turned and began speaking in hushed tones once more, apparently done with the footage. Eventually, they turned back to the two humans, Megatron approaching at a brisk pace.

His eyes, so full and intense before, were now cold. His servos held themselves as fists at his side, and he leaned down to crouch before her with precision. A palm rolled out onto the tabletop. “Tweety, it’s time to go home.”

She stepped into his palm. Questions starting springing in her head. What about reconvening with Starscream to continue the search? What was on that film that had made him change his mind? She looked up at him, gauging. He didn’t return her stare.

“Soundwave.” Megatron gave the officer a quick nod. “I expect an update by this evening as to the Autobot’s whereabouts.”

Soundwave bowed slightly, a hand curling around Darren’s frame. “Understood, Lord Megatron.”

His visor twitched momentarily towards Tweety. It felt like lasers were boring through her head.

“Rest well, my lord.” With that, he scooped Darren into his spindly fingers, making the boy squeak with surprise. She watched his receding figure as he marched away with a sinking feeling in her stomach.

Now Tweety and Megatron were alone. He transformed, jostling around her all at once, and s she found herself in the cab again, the pilot’s seat hard underneath her. The wind was whipping at the window in an instant as he shot for the sky, and she turned to watch Shockwave’s labs grow small in the distance, the figure’s dotting Iacon’s skyline becoming little pin pricks as they moved back to base. The mech all around her felt tired, heavy, and most of all, simmering.

She didn’t know what he was mad about, and he certainly did not offer it up the entire ride home. She simply sat in her seat and tried to fold her arms and legs as close to her as possible, removing their contact, trying to move away from the anger that hung on every inch of him.

All the way home she thought of Soundwave’s last knowing glance.

* * *

The common room was quiet, swelling her anxiety to new heights with each passing moment. Megatron appeared forlorn the last time she saw him — he had dumped her here, and rushed into his bedroom, leaving her to pace a trench into the tabletop despite her exhaustion.

Anxiety pricked at her skin. She rubbed her arms up and down, spinning on her heel to begin a round again. Never did she give into such telling habits as pacing, but she felt like it was all bared anyways. Megatron saw right through her anymore, as she did him, so familiar they were. His faces were burned into her brain at this point — his anger, his happiness, even the rare apologetic ones. Common sense told her that she was too close to a captor, too close to something so grisly and wicked and downright _demonic,_ but she had come to not see him that way. But when his furious temper rose, when the burning hate flickered back to life behind his optics, she could’ve swore she saw exactly why he was the way he was.

But she had to put that away. He couldn’t believe _whatever_ Soundwave had been putting in his ear, could he? _They do have a long history, _her thoughts rolled on, unaware of the heavy steps closing in, _and I am just a pet at the end of the day. But what was Soundwave showing him? What could have been so pressing that-_

“Tweety.”

She spun, staring up as he loomed. His optics were wide with suspicion.

“Come here,” a hand extended flat to the table, “we have matters to discuss.”

She stared up at him like he might have bitten off her head if she stepped forward too fast, but she didn’t resist him. She had learned that was rather futile. She kneeled in his palm as he sat back on the couch, letting her sit in his hand.

He was being gentle, she noticed, but distant. His mind seemed like it was elsewhere; or perhaps it was many places at once. His optics locked on the table for a few moments before he looked back to her.

“What do you know about the Autobot?”

His optics, though wide, were strangely… unsettling. Her throat tightened and she couldn’t speak for a moment.

“I’m-…” she managed, “I don’t- The Autobot and me didn’t have too much to say.” She shrugged, the action forced. “I don’t really know much about him.”

His facial plate hardened, exaggerating the scars running from his eyes. “You mean to say you didn’t speak to him?”

“No.” She muttered, backpedaling. “No, I mean, well… we had words…”

“Then no…” He hummed, a hand raising to flutter his fingers. _Flutter_ may not have been the right word with how menacing the whole gesture looked. “No _meaningful_ conversation?”

She gulped down, her throat sandpaper. _What does he know?_

She never could quite get herself to respond, and before she could turn the situation over in her head again, he reached over to the coffee table, plucking up a data pad and with a few taps, turning it towards her. And suddenly, everything made sense.

_The surveillance tape._ She kicked herself, thoughts coming to a shrieking halt. On the tablet, she was on his berth kneeled beside him. The conversation went on and on — no audio, so they would never know _exactly_ what they had spoken of, she took comfort in that. But she felt her whole body flinch as the saw attachment flashed. She spun around, climbing down the ladder, and nestled in the shadow of the Autobot lay the blade.

She resisted the way her body wanted to shake. _I am dead. I am beyond dead._

“So… nothing of meaning_,_ I presume.”

His voice was like ice. She felt sweat collecting on her palms, the echo of his words sinking in deeper and deeper. The room was getting so small, and she felt his digits curling closer and closer to her, trapping her, locking her in like the bars of a cage.

“It’s-“

_“Don’t.”_ His voice was so raw — almost like he was hurt. She blinked back tears. In the next instant she was fisted in his hand. Pulled upwards, to his face. Blinking up at fury she hadn’t seen yet.

“This-“ His voice quavered with rage, with pain, with _hurt._ She was bewildered, beyond unsure. His eyes darted over her form, optic casing creasing at the edges. “This is betrayal. You were the one that let him free. You-“

“But he _saved_ me!” Suddenly she had her voice, its tempo rising with each word, hurled like a distraction as she tried to free herself from his claws. It seemed like it had been ages since she had tried to squirm from his grasp. But he seemed so feral, so very real with intent, that it just happened. She didn’t think — she acted.

Megatron’s hand only curled tighter around her. She whipped her head up, dreads flying behind her, eyes wild and ferocious. Minutes passed before either of them moved. They simply stared in silence.

Megatron finally let her down on the table, crossing his arms over his chest, staring vacantly at her. She pulled her knees to her chest, sitting quietly as she maintained optic contact.

He broke first. Resting his elbows behind his protruding knee guards, he sighed, hanging his helm. A servo came up to massage his temple as he spoke, his voice quiet. “I don’t know what I am going to do, Tweety. I honestly don’t.”

She swallowed. She didn’t move, but her hands relaxed a bit around her knees. “What do you mean?”

His head raised. “This Autobot was highly dangerous, Tweety.” And once again the simmer in his eyes returned. “Do you have any idea what you’ve done?”

“I’ve saved my ass is what I did!” She screamed, suddenly back to her feet. “I know for a _fact_ that _you_ wouldn’t have saved me! You couldn’t have! You like to think you have this whole system in the palm of your hands, but you _don’t._”

He growled, lurching forward, fists and forearms slamming down on either side, trapping her. “Don’t _presume_ to know anything about any of this, Tweety. Deception politics are far more complicated than anything that happens amongst your slave class.”

“And how would you know?! You never ask me. You never even question how my day went, not even once asking if any of these other little monsters your men are rearing are _bearable._” She fumed, pulling her arms to her chest, awkward. She still watched the way his optics smoldered; a million things were going though those optics, a million factors and questions. She was being tried all over again.

_And when will I ever not be under a microscope?_ “And if you’re going to play this whole game of being concerned over me, of worrying about silly _scars,”_ her hand flashed to her face, “then it would only be right for you to take some time to actually _care!”_

Her hands flew in the air in a flourish. Optics traced them, then back to her, eyes still hot and liquid and livid, vents beginning to huff steam.

“You think that it’s that _easy?”_ His voice shook. The arms around her trembled. Suddenly, he laughed. “This is a game to you, I’m sure.”

“My slavery is a _game?”_ Her eyes flashed, teethed bared in a snarl. “I swear to God, Megatron, nothing is a game when you’re being chased by a bionic _spider,_ running from a fragging mad scientist, far away from your home planet!”

He spun away from the table, coming back just as quick. “You don’t know anything about slavery.” Voice nothing but a murmur, he leaned down so close she could reach out and touch his face where he stood. “You don’t know just how hard I am _trying,”_ a steadying breath, “to keep you alive.”

She stared, open jaw quavering, watching his burning optics for deceit. She felt like she was seeing something that couldn’t exist in the mech, something very open and wide and tender, like an old wound left to fester. Her thoughts again went to what he might have been through during the hours she was in Shockwave’s hands. She didn’t quite feel so small anymore, looking up at him in that moment.

And just like glass, it shattered as soon as he looked back to the data pad laying a few feet from her, previously forgotten. His optics reignited again, with that hidden softness somewhere beneath his rage, and she was hoisted in a fist as he stood up, walking from the room.

“And here, after all I have done for you,” the fist tightened further around her, “you let loose a dangerous criminal, a rebel that could send my entire empire spiraling into another war.” The servo around her grew hot.

She looked up at him, not sure what to do, if she could do anything. She was dropped onto a counter, and she looked around to realize he had moved them into his bathroom.

The sound of water running filled her ears. She looked over her shoulder and saw the tap running, the sink plugged, the water slowly rushing to fill the basin.

She looked back up at him, the fear clogging her throat, pinning her eyes still, shaking her frame. He was mountainous, standing far above, hand closing around her.

“Why did you release him?”

Her adam’s apple bobbed. “I…” _He’s not going to. He just can’t._

“Tweety.” Leaning forward, Megatron’s servo shoved her closer, massive heaves of warm air bellowing over her. “Why did you release him?”

“Well you weren’t _there!”_ Her voice cracked. A sob tried to work it’s way up her throat, but she swallowed it.

“Then why didn’t you WAIT!” His roar shook the counter beneath her feet, his digits curling into the countertop to crack and pop the ornate marble. “Why didn’t you _wait_ for me?”

“Why didn’t- why did-…” She hung her head, dreads falling to shroud her face. The tears came flowing now, dripping onto the marbled surface silently. She sucked in a breath and looked back up. Her red-rimmed eyes flashed. She let them speak for themselves.

The sink faucet flipped off behind her. She gave a whimper.

“If you won’t tell me, Tweety, then I have limited options.” His digits reached under her chin, tipping it up to his face. The sharp ends of his claws pressed into her jaw, pricking her skin, drawing blood.

“It was nothing.” She murmured, eyes hot, teeth clenched.

His head cocked slightly. “I sadly don’t believe you.”

With a flick of his wrist, she was sent launching back into the water. She was swallowed whole by it, and her arms and legs went into motion to try and pull her back to the surface. She barely broke it when his digits clamped around her again, holding her somewhere near the surface, water lapping at her clavicle and throat. She gasped, out of breath and in preparation for the worst.

“Please, don’t do this.” Her voice took on a new edge — a new intensity. His hand only tightened in response.

She was dipped under, panic making her scream out the air in her lungs, thrashing her head. She kicked and writhed in his grasp in futility until he let her go, bursting to the surface. She coughed and gasped, hands slipping on the edge of the sink, trying to pull herself up.

His servo was at her back again, snagging her shirt and pulling her into the pool to tread water. She didn’t fight against him; she realized that to save herself, she had to reserve her strength.

She looked up again to see his face unchanged. “Tell me why you set him free.”

“Why do you care so much?” Her voice took on a high whine that embarrassed her a bit, but her weak lungs didn’t allow for much else. “Why can’t you just believe me?”

“I’ve already let you off once.” His face loomed closer, denta baring in a snarl. "Shockwave was… what do you humans call it?” He scoffed, optics flitting to the ceiling before returning to her. “He played the _devil’s advocate_ in our case, convincing me to let you go under observation. I can’t help but wonder: exactly _why_ did he feel that way?”

Megatron’s claws pulled her under a bit, the water sloshing over her sealed lips. She sputtered a bit when she sucked in some through her nose, coughing and retching, allowing more in. He brought her back up onto the counter, her eyes stinging, sinuses and nose burning. Her throat and chest felt like they were on fire.

He continued as he watched her heave. “Why would he want me to let you go? What connection do you and the scientist have, now that he has been put into such a… traitorous light?”

“He tried to _kill me!”_ She howled, looking into his optics with unbridled rage. “Hell if I know what that sick, twisted _bastard_ wanted with me.”

Her curses landed on deaf ears, for he continued, “And why would you let loose that _Autobot?_ It just doesn’t make sense, how that could have benefitted either of you…”

A servo rose over her, and she darted from his grasp to rush towards him. Her fists shook and her heartbeat pounded a staccato through her entire body. “That’s probably because it wasn’t meant to benefit either of us! It was… it was…”

He sneered as he watched her struggle for words, for the excuse. Her fingers closed around her head, and she grimaced, drops of water slipping off her lips. _He just isn’t going to listen._

But then, behind her, she heard the drain begin it’s gurgle as it was opened. She looked up at Megatron again to see him bringing his arm back to his side, staring her in the eyes.

At that moment, it hit her how exhausted she was. The adrenaline seemed to rush out of her, and her legs quaked, collapsed, and had her fall to the floor. She sat there and shook, darting looks up at him as she tried to stifle her heavy breathing and trembling sobs.

She saw that… that _something_ in his face again. It was so obviously _there,_ but it was just so hard to describe, to pin, to place. He seemed to be trying so hard to smother it, but it was still there. _He looks so hurt, _she moaned inwardly, and with a start, she realized that was what it was. Hurt.

She crawled forward, trying to speak, trying to find the words and the intent forming within her that seemed so foreign. She brushed back her sopping wet dreadlocks from her face, holding eye contact with him. “I…” she gulped, and started again. “It’s… Megatron.”

She could have sworn she saw him flinch, shift, do _something_ in response to his name, so she kept going. “He was going to kill me.” And suddenly, the dam broke, tears spilling over her cheeks and dribbling over her wet and tender burns, and she gingerly swiped at them as she spoke. “He was going to kill me. He was _this_ close. I didn’t know what to do, I didn’t know the Autobot, I didn’t know the mech… I-"

She sucked in a breath, looking away, then back. “I was just so _scared.”_

Megatron’s eyes seemed to outgrow their sockets. He didn’t respond for several long minutes as she bawled on the countertop, shaking, mumbling incoherent things about _spiders_ and _dark dark hallways_ and others, curling into herself, shuffling her legs as deep into her chest as possible while she held herself tight and rocked. At some point a towel was wrapped around her. She was lifted up, carried off.

She was vaguely aware of servos brushing over her, even as her thoughts were consumed by the images of eight eyes and saws spinning wildly in her vision. She curled deeper into his servo, and he pulled her to his chassis, the whirring of his spark familiar enough to distract her from the flashbacks. _Not real. Not real. Safe, safe._

He might have been murmuring things to her, but she wasn’t entirely aware of what he was saying. Her arms were lifted as her shirt was removed, and shortly after her jeans tugged from her legs, leaving her shivering in the cold of the room. Hot water met her skin, warming her bones, and she couldn’t help but sigh as she was set in a shallow tub.

She bothered to look up and see his face watching her reaction. She looked around at where she was; still in the bathroom, but relocated to another part of the countertop where a round, porcelain tub had been set into it. She tensed momentarily as his digits began to scritch and preen around her scalp, but she relaxed as the familiar sensation overwhelmed her.

She swallowed, splashing herself with water and suddenly self-conscious in the wake of her hysterics. She still felt a little shaky, but managed to collect herself enough to ask a question. “When… did this get here?”

“It was installed yesterday while we were out.” And in a smaller voice, “I wanted to surprise you.”

For some reason, the words seemed like a stab in her heart, twisting something deep within the bowels of her being. Anger flashed momentarily, a raging, incoherent mantra of _hypocrite-bastard-makeyourmindup_ overtaking her a moment, but he had moved his digits to the nape of her neck and was gently scrubbing behind her ears. Her shoulders dropped as he leaned her head forward and washed her back, enlisting the help of a soft-bristle brush somewhere in the process and making soothing circles with it. Her mind seemed to be slowing down with each stroke.

Occasionally, she woke enough from her light doze to think about how he had been drowning her just minutes before, and now, she was letting him groom her like an obedient pet, letting him shush her whenever she felt a small whimper crawling it’s way up her throat. She tried to reason it out in her mind, tried to make herself believe it was justified, but it wasn’t. Nothing could quite explain her feelings except Stockholm syndrome, but she denied it furiously, believing she was on some kind of mission, some kind of cause to change the warlord. She scoffed at herself, though. She had long since decided change wasn’t possible for someone like Megatron.

The idea of missions and causes brought her back to the Autobot. What was it that he was alluding to in the labs? She almost pursued the train of thought but the images… still hurt too much. She felt herself starting to shake again and Megatron started his murmuring up, a servo reaching up to scratch shampoo into her dreads and scalp and the other giving her back more attention. She felt herself tensing up, readying to rush away from him, but found that she just quite couldn’t. His servos seemed so _safe_ and warm and gentle, if just in this moment. And she hated it.

She hated the way Shockwave had scarred her. She hated that every instance, every incident, seemed to place her and her master back to square one, back to torture, back to slave and pet rather than… the _something_ that they were. _Friends?… Advisors?_ Her thoughts turned it over for a bit, but nothing quite fit. They hated each other, she understood that entirely. But respect lingered. If they had anything, it was respect.

His servos traveled over her shoulders, before settling them with a firm grip and turning her to face him. They finally found something that had been bothering him for hours, she knew: her burns. They touched the bubbling marks, and she hissed, drawing back. His eyes hardened, reaching for salves and dabbing them on, bit by bit. She hadn’t been able to see them yet, but she knew that they hurt, and they seemed to be everywhere.

“Perhaps they won’t scar. But it is too early to tell.” His voice was practically monotone, a servo brushing over her head and petting her gently.

She felt too numb to properly care. Perhaps, after she had slept properly, she would care. But soon he removed her from the tub, drying her off with a towel, and pulled an oversized t-shirt over her head that she had a habit of sleeping in. She readied herself to be dropped in her crate, but he scooped her into his servo and left the bathroom.

She didn’t say anything, just observed the familiar path they were taking to his berth room. He dimmed the lights at the entrance, shut the curtains to the outside daylight, and then moved onto the berth, frame groaning in relief as he laid himself down. His servo slid her onto his chest, and then rose off to the side to return with a blanket and pillow. He tossed them at her unceremoniously, then threw his arm behind his head and seemed to relax fully. His optics closed, face settling into a stoic expression.

In the silence, she didn’t move a muscle at first. She finally asked, “What if you roll over on top of me?”

He grunted, shifting a bit deeper into his berth. “I don’t move in my recharge.”

She blinked one, two, three times, and then sighed, standing up and adjusting her pillow. “I swear you’re going to be the death of me.”

“Ditto.” His voice lilted higher with inflection, eyebrows raising, but his optics never opened. She circled around on his chest and fussed with the blanket until she was happy, sprawling to lie down face-first on his spark chamber, somewhere over his insignia. Her hands curled underneath the pillow and thumbed the hot surface of his armor.

His servo reached up and curled around her, a digit crawling underneath the shirt and blanket to stroke her back gently. She sighed deeper, overwhelming gratitude suddenly filling her whole chest. She would have nightmares, no doubt, and Megatron planned to keep them at bay. It wasn’t something that had to be stated; she seemed to just know.

She finally fell asleep listening to the hum of his systems, putting away the conflict of her interests revolving him, trying to enjoy just this one comfort in the world of factions and injustice she lived in. Her dreams tried to summon the demons from the labs, but Megatron’s radiating presence kept them at bay.

But deep, cerulean blue optics wouldn’t be thwarted by the warlord. Familiar voices echoed all throughout the night, beckoning and calling with visions she knew were memories. _We need you, Tweety._


	12. Triangles Are Forming

Tweety was vaguely aware of being shifted in her sleep at some point; the world rose and her stomach lurched, and she let loose a mild moan in protest. But soon she was replaced to a stable surface, footsteps leaving the room. She shuffled her pillow and turned over, embracing unconsciousness again.

Minutes or hours may have passed before she woke up, rising out of the tangled blanket and staring at her surroundings blearily. She was still in Megatron’s bedroom, she knew that much, but the rest of the details seemed to escape her. She leaned forward and looked down. _The nightstand. Ah._

She stretched her arms overhead, pushing her dreads back in the same motion and letting loose a noisy yawn. Megatron had always teased her for her noisy habits upon waking up, and she soon realized that even if his tongue could be as cutting as a knife, he actually was showing his strange, twisted version of affection. She rubbed her face and groaned. _He’s infuriating._ She spun around and sat up, bending over to stretch her hamstrings. She padded along the tabletop and listened to the quiet of the loft.

“Megatron!” She assumed he had left her to sleep in because of the harrowing events of the previous 24 hours. When he didn’t respond, she moved a bit closer to the door and repeated her call. She heard some minor shuffling, but several minutes passed with no response.

Finally, Megatron came marching through the doorway, his frame filling the entire space. His palm came and laid flat on the surface. She hopped on without delay.

“What’s been going on with the search?” She mumbled, rubbing sleep from her eyes.

He frowned. “I must leave to go back to the laboratory.”

She felt her throat constrict. “What? We’re going back there?”

“Not ‘us,’ me.” He turned into his washroom. “You are going to stay with Buzzsaw and Lazerbeak at Soundwave’s abode.”

Her mouth flew open, agape. “But-“ She stopped herself, thinking of Soundwave’s glares, the dark aura that had surrounded him since yesterday after viewing the camera footage. Wouldn’t his symbiotes feel the same?

She had been silent for more than a moment, but Megatron still gave her a hard look as he set her down on the counter, silencing any arguments. “You have had enough excitement for now.” Out of his subspace came the balm he had applied to her burns earlier. He had her wash her face and then leaned down to doctor the slightly-less tender wounds.

He straightened up and wiped his servos with a rag, appraising his work. “It seems they might make a full recovery after all.”

She sat back on the countertop, arms crossed. “Why can’t I come with you?”

Megatron tossed the rag into a wash bin. “If you really want to,” his head tilted, shoulders shrugging, “you’re welcome to come back down into the labs.”

“In fact,” he smiled, “maybe you can recount your encounter with the creature of the late scientist that gave you _those.”_ His servo gestured to her face, and she subconsciously reached up to touch them, mind turning. “I’m sure your new-found expertise with the horrors of Shockwave’s abode would do us well as we try to secure the area.”

“Secure?” Her eyes grew wide.

He nodded solemnly, his gravelly tone taking on a new edge. “Yes. Shockwave’s labs, as you well know, are not exactly free of hazards. Why, I’m being called down there for a large cage they found empty. It’s reinforced for something incredibly strong, and they have no idea what might go in it.” He smiled. “It’s going to be rather… _interesting_ to hunt down whatever belongs in it.”

_Screeching, spitting spiders,_ her thoughts screamed, heart racing faster, _saw spinning and spinning and spinning…_

“Let me have you a lunch packed-“

“No!”

Megatron paused. “No?”

“No,” she panted. “No. I don’t want to go.” She wrung her hands, taking in a shallow breath to calm herself. “I’ll stay at Soundwave’s.”

His lips turned up into a knowing smirk. “Very well then.”

She watched him turn his back and stride off with the air of someone completely smitten with their victory. She slammed a hand to the countertop once she realized what he had done.

She had to give him credit for his ability to manipulate. But she rather begrudged him for his underhanded tactics. Her shoulders trembled.

_Spinning and spinning and spinning…_

* * *

Tweety and the arial’s stared face to face for perhaps a bit longer than was polite. Megatron jostled her a bit in his grip.

“Tweety,” the warlord rumbled, voice taking an edge of patronization as he eyed the avian twins, “I do not believe you or the twins have met each other. Buzzsaw,” he motioned with his occupied hand towards the dusky blue hawk-former who had his head grouched low, “and Lazerbeak,” to the red and golden winged eagle that eyed her beadily, head twitching side to side, “have every permission to discipline you as need be, so behave.”

Tweety choked down a scoff, having to sort through many an inappropriate response before she managed, “Yes master.”

The warlord petted her head silently, setting her down on the coffee table in the living space. She watched Darren’s beaming face light up to a higher decibel as Megatron turned to leave, bounding over.

He halted with a small squeak of his sneakers when the gladiator spun back. Megatron held the room’s attention for a few more moments before giving a small smile and quitting the room.

Tweety blinked a bit before Darren grabbed her shoulder and pulled her into a hug. “I’m so happy to see you! I thought you might be dead!”

She blinked. “Dead?”

The suspicion in her voice made him pull away and hold her at arms length. An awkward moment passed as he felt her tension beneath his hands; he returned his arms to his sides. “Well um, I mean… after what Soundwave saw on the monitors…”

So the mech _did_ tell him everything. “Megatron and me sorted it out.” She moved to small snack tray set out, kneeling down and scooping up some meats and cheeses.

“I guess you two really have a thing going, don’t you?” Darren tilted his head, face blank. “He’s never let anyone off before for something like that.”

She shrugged. “Well he hasn’t had humans before has he?”

He seemed unimpressed, lips pressed thin. “But I mean… he had to do _something.”_

Her face blanched a bit. Her head titled down, and she swallowed thickly, pulling her arms across her chest to hug herself. She looked to the side for awhile in hopes that he would drop the subject but when she looked back he was still staring, waiting.

To her surprise, she found herself wanting to snap away about how it was none of his business. What happened between her and Megatron was between _them,_ not him, or anyone else. Not even _Soundwave._

Now angry, she whirled her head back around and held his stare level. _“Nothing._ Nothing happened. We just…”

And then the feeling of a water-raw throat was making her hands twitch with the urge to sooth along her neck. And too, memories of shaking and sobbing as he lathered her hair and slaved over her body while the panic of the aftermath consumed her were in her face, in her head, and she couldn’t quite continue to deny Darren the truth as he leaned forward, brows raised.

“He did something.” Darren’s hands reached out and touched. Tweety’s eyes darted to the room, looking for the ever watching twins and by extension Soundwave, and they appeared to be gone. But she didn’t let her guard down even as Darren pulled closer and gripped her by the elbows. His face was worried, sympathetic, all sad eyes and soft mouth. “I can see it on your face. He did something.”

She held his gaze, resolve breaking by the moment. _It doesn’t even _matter_ what he thinks, so it doesn’t matter to tell him, if he wants to know so bad._

“He drowned me.” She flipped her head to the side, eyes still scanning the room for the aerials. Where had they even gone? “I mean, he _sort of_ drowned me. Dunked me under a few times. But…” here, she sighed, turning back to him, “he just wasn’t quite in it. He seemed… so _distracted._ Confused… I would even say vulnerable.”

Darren’s hands squeezed around her elbows a bit tighter and then he pulled back, eyes dark and quiet. He mulled over what she had said for more than a moment before he replied.

“He probably likes you. A lot. I just… I wonder sometimes if you’re… if you could do something different.”

Tweety looked up, startled by the new direction. “What do you mean?”

Darren seemed to hesitate before he continued. “I think… I think maybe this might be best if you… if you…” He shook his head. “Okay. Listen. I want you to have a healthy relationship with Megatron, okay?” Watching him raising his hands up to placate, nodding to try to stir agreement, she began to get a bad feeling. “What I’m saying is is that he might be a bit obsessive. I mean, he’s Megatron, right? He’s taken over two worlds and killed the Prime and overthrew an entire society to get his way and to change things so he’s a bit over-the-top sometimes.”

He seemed to keep talking faster and faster as he got deeper into this, whatever _this_ was. She watched his eyes scrunch as he seemed more and more agitated. “But he- he could _hurt_ you, Tweety. He could really hurt you if this goes on-“

“If _what_ goes on?” Her voice broke a bit with the sudden jump in inflection. He blinked, stopping in his constant hand motions to stare at her a bit.

“Well- I mean to say…” She stared, waiting, and he shrugged. “It just looks like… it looks like you both…”

“We both _what?”_

He threw his hands up, to let them fall back down to drum his thighs. “Don’t make this harder than it needs to be, Tweety.”

She stared. He stared. It went on for a few moments before he continued. “You two look like you’re getting into a more complicated pet and master relationship.”

She ogled at him a bit, hand raising to motion him to continue. He sighed, palm coming to his face to drag down it. “I just think that you need to be discouraging him, because he’s…”

She filled the silence after this thousandth pause. “You mean to say, he’s coming onto me?”

Darren’s hands shot up to placate. “That’s not what I was getting-“

“And I’m coming onto him?” Her voice dropped an octave, body steadily going rigid.

“Tweety- he- he could kill you!”

“Well don’t worry because I don’t think he’s ever gonna be able to stuff that thing in _there._” Her hand gave her crotch a flippant pat.

Darren’s face went blank for about half a second before he reeled back like he had tasted something rather foul. “Tweety! That’s not what I’m talking about!” He groaned, hands reaching for her shoulders and shaking her with each point. His voice took on a grave tone. “He can be _violent,_ Tweety, he could kill you at any given moment in a fit of rage. I mean, you can only do so much to… um… _dissuade_ him,” he cleared his throat, “but you most certainly do _not_ want to be leading him on and-“

“I know what you are talking about you little _shit.”_ She growled, shoving him away, and then following with menacing steps. He kept backing up. “And for you to insinuate that I’ve been playing _coy_ with Megatron is absolutely _absurd._ Why would I do that?” Her voice went high, sing-song as she continued. “What _proof_ do you have of this _grave_ misconduct I’ve been committing?”

Her face was flushed, the tips of her toes all the way to the tips of her ears throbbing with her pulse. “How in the _world_ would he be onto me anyways? He… he-“ She snorted, a laugh beginning to rise. “He _hates_ me.” And she paused, doubling back, “Well, not… we don’t get along too well.”

Darren stared. Her arms crossed. “Well we don’t! I mean he obviously, y’know, _drowned me_ so-”

“And so you’re saying that your relationship _is_ unhealthy?”

Her face flushed, cheeks puffing. “I never said it WAS!”

“But,” he continued, “what kind of twisted mind game is he playing?” His voice rose. “He’s… he’s…” And just as quick his voice dipped to a hushed whisper, darting a look to the room, looking for the twins, “he’s Megatron, Tweety! He’s sadistic, and twisted, and… I just don’t want you to get hurt.”

At the last, his voice had dropped to a murmur, a hand trying to reach for her shoulder. She pulled away, fire in her eyes. His head dipped.

“I just don’t want you to get hurt.”

“Well I don’t need your help to accomplish that.” She realized she had been holding the meats and cheeses she had picked up minutes before throughout their whole argument. She shoved them in her mouth unceremoniously and flippantly spun away, finishing their discussion. She paused a few steps in and returned to the snacks, cradling fistfuls against her chest.

She began her way down the small ladder Soundwave had installed for Darren’s comfort; the only thing she could think of right now was finding a quiet place to finish her meal. She gave her mouthful a couple of furious chews. She bit the inside of her mouth and the sharp pain brought out an agitated groan.

_Idiot, incompetent, nosy-nobody… what is he even _thinking? Her furious pace only increased as she made her way down the ladder and stormed off into the flat. _Me and Megatron don’t have _any_ of those vibes… none…_

But what if they did? She plopped herself by the leg of the couch, backing herself against it and popping more cheese cubes into her mouth, mindful of her cut. She had never… she had never _felt_ that way for _anyone_. As far as she could remember, at least.

Her hand brushed back her dreads and at a clinking sound, looked down, noting the replaced bracelet Megatron had put on her that morning. He had had it seemingly _instantly._ She wondered if he had backups.

Begrudgingly, she felt… _safe_ with it on. Knowing that he was always watching, always sure of where she was and always prepared to return to her at a moments notice. The lab had been all the scarier without it. She cradled the chained hand against her chest. Her eyes softened, the corners of her mouth turning up.

She had to admit that Darren might have had a point as she sat there contemplating her feelings for the mech. Her fingers brushed against the links in the bracelet. Strangely, her fondness and trust in the warlord didn’t bother her much. She wondered what would have happened months ago if she had even contemplated such things about her master.

And how did these feelings fit in with her relationships? With Megatron, with Darren, with the other humans? Did Megatron _reciprocate_ any feelings of fondness, platonic or… _otherwise?_ What were these feelings anyways_?_ She didn’t feel like she could quite call it infatuation, nor… _physical_ attraction. The thought actually rather revolted her, making her whole body numb.

No, she wasn’t there yet. Not at all. And she still hated him. His confident ways, his difficulty, almost _innability_ to listen to anyone or anything but himself. _But still, dammit, he’s… he’s a friend._ And she had to call it the strangest friendship she had ever had.

* * *

_:All units, report.:_

_:Soundwave, on comms.:_

_:Breakdown at lab ground-floor entrance.:_

_:And Knockout’s with him.:_

_:Rumble, in approximately… eh… south-western side of laboratory, third negative level.:_

_:Frenzy in close proximity to Rumble. Ravage is nearby too.:_

_:Starscream in northern Iacon, residence district.:_

_:Why are you still there? I ordered you to the laboratory ten clicks ago.:_

_:Apologies, master. There was another sighting and-:_

_:Enough. Head to the laboratories, _now._ No excuses.:_

_:Rerouting flight. ETA three clicks.:_

Megatron huffed, banking into a lazy turn around Shockwave’s labs. He observed the busily moving bodies of investigators below, and he was seeing progress. Crates were filing out of the complex, heading to loading bays for ground transport to catalogue. After, they would be moved to a storage facility near the outskirts of Iacon, until the Autobot had been found. As it stood, the laboratory was too unstable to have all it’s secrets left unattended.

And a secret of it’s was partly the reason why he had been summoned back by Soundwave.

He swooped low, transforming, and landed upright on the ground floor entrance. Knockout and Breakdown nodded towards the High Lord, making room as he stalked past them. Soundwave landed moments behind him, catching up to flank his shoulder. Both ex-gladiators disappeared into the building, and Knockout and Breakdown shared a shrug before following them.

Lights pulsed over the armor of the squad as they passed through the halls, some from the overhead lighting, others, from the machinery that hummed in the corridors. A stray experiment ran past, too quick to get details, but Megatron knew the scurrying sound of eight legs meant it was arachnid inspired.

The warlord led them towards the southern side of the laboratories, and Megatron reached his servo to his helm. “Rumble, Frenzy. Where are you?”

_:It’s a storage room. 13-C. There should be an elevator to your right.:_

Megatron flicked off the comm, stopping to look around only to have Knockout and Breakdown collide into him. He looked over his shoulder, fire in his eyes.

“Just because the war is over _doesn’t mean_ that there are no longer threats.” His voice was dripping ire. “Keep alert. It could cost you your lives.”

Knockout started up some kind of apology, but Megatron had already moved on. He wandered towards the walls, running his hands along grooves.

“Rumble. There is no elevator.”

_:Yes there is! It was right there! I mean, let me-:_

His commlink fizzled with static and rustling, then Megatron heard a small groan from below. Suddenly the walls were slipping apart underneath his hands, shifting aside to show a long, dark passage that looked well used and maintained. Soundwave moved up to his shoulder, looking down it with him.

“So he had secrets.” Megatron heard Soundwave’s frown in his voice.

“So he did.” The lift rose to stop flush against the entrance, and they boarded. Knockout and Breakdown followed.

The lift’s doors closed and soon they were descending. Megatron sighed. “And it shouldn’t surprised me,” he mourned, “Shockwave had grown more and more recluse after the war ended. In fact, I always knew something had changed when he returned to us on Earth. Something wasn’t right.”

Knockout looked over his shoulder, smile crooked. “Isolation changes bots. I’m sure even our late scientist wasn’t immune to his time alone on Cybertron and all of its… affects.”

Megatron’s eyes narrowed. “Perhaps. But perhaps, also, his betrayal was always imminent.” The door opened, and Megatron stepped out first. His next words were soft, slanting to wonderment. “It may have been his plan from the moment he joined the cause.”

The corridor they entered was strangely bare. There were no leaks, drips, patches of plating mysteriously missing from the walls, no ominous signs of what might lurk within. It was also rather dark: no lights were on in the hallway, and the officers flicked on headlights and biolights to illuminate the way.

Soundwave took point this time, his bond leading them towards the twins. Megatron watched the back of his third as he glided past doors and passages to take a smooth quarter turn into an illuminated room. Megatron took interest in this room’s contents, unlike the other bare ones they had passed by. The entire room glowed. Viscous greens and sickly yellows filled stasis tubes taller than he, wider than two of him. Terminals hummed and ticked along the walls.

The twins, though delinquent, had enough sense to give hasty bows. Frenzy watched the officers file in with his arms crossed. Rumble hopped from foot to foot, ducking his head towards the doorway to check for any more before starting his speech.

“Well, so, uh, yeah.” He thumbed towards the back of the room. “It’s back there.”

Megatron stalked forward, his officers following behind. Rumble padded along beside him. “You see,” the small mech prattled, “at first, we didn’t worry about it. Might have been for something that he had a long time ago, might have been for something that he never even _made,_ right?”

Frenzy jumped forward. “It was only after we saw signs that something had been in there, recently, that we started… worrying.”

The first thing that hit him was that the outward bend in the bars, torn open like something bursting from a ribcage. He examined the whole broken contraption with a critical eye.

“You see,” Frenzy continued, “we think that something… got out of there. Recently by the looks of the claw marks; there’s no oxidization.”[ that doesn’t occur on Cybertron… I would think, but they’ve got the atmosphere for humans now so maybe

Megatron turned and regarded the twins, but before he could speak: “And we’ve already checked the logs, Shockwave kept the logs battened down tight so we can’t access information on whatever he had in here.”

Megatron sneered at the little cassettes. “And you didn’t try to hack it, Rumble?”

“I tried, but it’s going to take more than a few minutes to get through.” He scratched the back of his neck. “It’s… it’s more security than I’ve seen in a long time.”

Megatron humphed, moving forward to notice the detail in the scrapes of the break, the jagged tear of where the metal broke. He huffed.

“And you haven’t sensed any Energon or energy signals down here while you’ve been here?”

“No,” Frenzy spoke. “But there’s dampeners somewhere, because we can’t even see ourselves on the radar. We’ve yet to find them.”

“Makes sense.” Breakdown mused as he looked around the room. “It’d be pointless for Shocks to make a secret level to his labs, put secret experiments down there, and leave their signatures open for scans to pick up.”

Megatron nodded. “Indeed.” He turned to regard them. “From here, begin an inspection room by room. Cover and secure the ones Rumble and Frenzy have already visited…” He slanted his optics to the twins. “Whatever’s lurking down here has likely doubled back over their tracks.”

Knockout and Breakdown broke away first to head down the hallway. And in after them came Starscream, wings bobbing softly upon seeing Soundwave and Megatron.

His attention quickly shifted past them. “What was in _there?”_

“We don’t have time for long explanations,” Megatron began stalking out of the room. “Search and secure the area. We cannot track any energy signatures because of some kind of jamming device, so be aware.”

“But master!” His hands flew up against his chest, fingers curling. “We can’t possibly just-“

Megatron didn’t think twice about doing an about and pinning the seeker with his hardest glare. The jet had already ignored his command once today, going off and spending precious resources on wasted pursuits after the Autobot. He didn’t like the idea of him trying to take hold of the situation in this lab as well.

And the Commander wisely took note of his intent and immediately zipped it. But just as Megatron was turning, he whined, “But please master, just listen…”

Groaning, the warlord turned back again. “Whatever could you possibly have to contribute to this plan, Starscream?”

The seeker’s wings hiked, face stone. “I was going to suggest, master, that we stick in pairs, as we have no idea what Shockwave has been conjuring up down here in this thaumaturge’s dungeon.”

Megatron huffed. “We don’t have the time nor the resources for that, Starscream, and if you are so concerned about the well being of our soldiers, then I will suggest you stop talking and start _moving,_ for every second spent sitting here is another moment we are loosing to this beast.”

“But that cage could _fit ten of you!_ It could be _massive_ and the idea of sending each one of us alone to get it, even _you_ alone in all of your ‘battle prowess’ and-“

_“Enough!”_ Megatron roared, the seeker shrinking back. “My orders are final. You will obey them, Starscream.” And off he went, leaving his second fuming and his third observing as always.

Megatron ate the halls up with massive strides. His second was becoming increasingly stubborn and rebellious again, and he wondered how long it would take for them to be back to the way they were before his return to the faction while on Earth. He had been so loyal for a time as he always had been when reconciling his standing with Megatron. But once he had secured his rank once more, he again became restless.

Megatron made a mental note to think about his second later. He had a beast to catch at this moment.

He went through much of the complex without incident. He knew that over five check-ins had gone by before he had gone still while he was crouched down, examining some overturned crates. Realization had made him still. This ground maze was of similar composition to a boxed food he had fed Tweety when she first came to him.

And then he heard it. A particular kind of pitter-patter that was familiar.

Had Shockwave kept humans, really? Is that what he had been so secretive about? Megatron laughed to himself as he got to his feet and started turning to pursue whatever little critter was running amuck. He wondered how many might be in the complex. And then he paused again. What was the downfalls of just letting them sit here and rot? Why _should_ he go after them? There’s no real reason why he should dedicate so many hours and resources to trying to track down the nearly microscopic vermin. _But,_ he mused, _they might have important intelligence to the contents of the lab, and even more intelligence when it came to Shockwave’s true motives when he went after me._

But he found the last idea unlikely. In fact, he found both of those thoughts incredibly ridiculous the more he turned them over. Shockwave had mentioned how much he had hated the humans disturbance amongst Deception lifestyle while he had gloated over Tweety; he had arrived in enough time to get that bit, or at least the gist of it. Whatever he meant to do with whatever humans he kept would have not brought them into contact with any of the information they sook.

And so he began to leave the room. But something made him stop, his spark thrumming hesitatingly. _They are useless… but…_

But he should check just on the off chance. He could easily dispose of them after locating them. He sighed. Sometimes he hated making himself do things he really would rather not do, like get on his hands and knees and try to corner the scraplets. He did that enough with Tweety.

Thoughts like _too old for this_ and _I should be retired_ wanted to ping at his psyche but he batted the ideas away and returned to the last location of the sound. The creature, or perhaps creatures, had gone quiet now. He sighed. He knew this was going to be difficult. He had no idea even if they spoke English.

“Come out, and I will not harm you.” _He_ wouldn’t harm them, he thought, but the thirty foot drop to the floor might if they didn’t prove useful. Regardless, he was answered with silence.

He stifled a sigh, rolling his eyes and getting on his hands and knees. “I am Megatron, leader of the Decepticons and High Lord of Cybertron and Earth. Shockwave was killed by my hands and I am now your master. I command you to _come out.”_

Again, no answer. He growled low in his throat.

“Fine then.” He muttered, standing up to look at the top of the desk he was near. What was up here that he could use…?

Nothing. Absolutely nothing. His anger boiled to new heights. His voice boomed loud, surely echoing far down the corridor. “I am your _god,_ fleshlings, and I command you to come out.”

He _knew_ that silence was cheeky. He just _knew_ it. Dropping to the floor again, he flicked on a light attached to his canon and aimed it underneath the desk.

He looked, seeing nothing but dust and dirt. But when he began to move away, he saw it. Movement, there, in the corner. Little eyes, and a little nose, and a little mouth, sticking up out of the debris.

“Come. Out.” He growled. “Or I will come fetch you.”

He knew it was shocked when it first saw him, and he saw the conflict in his eyes. But finally, the figure crawled up on it’s elbows, sucked in a breath, and:

“Take your godhood and _frag off!”_

_No._ His optics went wide. _The last thing I need is another one._

And damnit, he tried, but he just couldn’t come up with a reply, besides, “You’ll regret that, worm.”

And then, logically, he knew he was going to have to fulfill his word. So he hunkered down on the floor, bracing himself to lift the desk up and snatch her.

And then there was the growl.

It was so low and ominous it made him still. He listened to it’s length and breadth expand and it’s volume rise until it thrummed against his entire frame and he could hear it through the floor. He looked up, seeing glowing yellow eyes piercing the gloom, each as large as his face.

The enormity of the beast became apparent with each shift of it’s weight as it watched him, there, on the floor, trying to reach the human. With each micro movement it was inching closer into the light, features of a reptilian face coming into his vision. He felt his armor clamping up when the thing gave his direction a lazy sniff.

He flicked his commentator on with a fluid movement, so as not to startle it. “Starscream.”

Static greeted him for just a few moments longer than his comfort could stand and he repeated, _“Starscream.”_

The other end blipped on. “Yes, master?”

And oh, his tone. He was still pissy. Megatron’s olfactory sensor scrunched as the beast opened it’s mouth, a strange hiss emanating from somewhere behind that large tongue.

“Starscream,” Megatron spoke much softer than he was used to, the rasp in his voice at an all time high. “I have found the experiment. Re-route the parties to meet approximately fifteen clicks down the south-west corridor. I’m sure you will find us.”

“Oh really?” Starscream drawled. “So you _do_ need assistance?”

“Starscream.” He growled. It inched a bit closer, it’s forequarters coming into the light. _Primus it’s massive._ “Get over here _now.”_

He heard stifled ex-vents; he was hiding his laughter. “On my way, my liege.”

When the line cut, his attention was brought back to under the desk when it — _she_ — let out a whistle.

“So.” She smiled. “That there is my guard dog. Are you ready to eat shit?”

He sneered, looking back at the beast. It was _playing_ with him for Primus’ sake, crouched over there like a lazy cat with a trapped mouse. “We’ll see about that, human.”

It let out a roar, opening its mouth to show the jagged incisors. The sound shook the room. Megatron even felt his chest armor rattle.

He bared his own denta and charged.

First, a tail swiped out of nowhere, trying to throw him down off his balance. He retaliated with a leap over it and jabbing his sword towards the beast’s face. Dodging, it came back with fangs snapping, and he noted between offense and defense that wings were unfurling behind it, tips grazing the low ceiling.

_A dragon._ He spun back, leapt to the side, continually being pushed back. But for the moment while he took in the size of his opponent, it was alright. Was Shockwave experimenting with CNA from the past?

The dragon rushed him, and he spun to the side of the desk to regain his footing. It turned around, having difficulty maneuvering in the tight quarters, and when it found him sitting between it and it’s package — _It’s the human’s “guard dog,”_ Megatron mused — it screeched in warning.

And then he heard the gasps of his soldiers somewhere beyond the doorway. And then, he had a plan.

“Starscream!” He shouted as he parried another round of blows, managing to throw in a well aimed punch. The dragon reeled back with a hiss, clicking it’s mandibles. “Get in here!”

“W-Where-“ And then he heard a crash as the beast threw down it’s tail, knocking into the doorway and collapsing the roof above it.

_And there goes backup._

“Starscream,” he tried over the comms, but now the line was static. He pushed away the thoughts of his second’s condition and focused on the biggest issue in front of him: twenty tons of animal bearing down on him.

Megatron tried to dance out of the way, but each time he swore the thing was getting quicker, getting smarter. He swung his sword and it snatched it out of air the air into its maw. Before he could jerk it away he was flying.

He landed somewhere in the dark patch where it had been so hard to see the beast. His display told him that his dominant arm had been pulled from the joint, and that strange static he was receiving from it must have been because it was disconnected from his neural network. It was now useless.

From someplace else, he heard some kind of giggle. But it was drowned out by the high hum of the systems approaching him, step by step, and his optics blazed bright as the thing crawled close and looked him directly in the eye. As it opened its mouth wide, he noted the feel of _very_ hot breath washing over him, and he watched the thinner parts of its chest armor flicker and wane with a glow. His optics widened. _Predacons breathe… fire._

That glow pulsed up the beasts neck, heading towards the throat. From the corner of his optics, he saw sparks. _A power line._ He reached for it just as he saw the flames licking at the back of it’s throat. He grabbed the cable in his hands and—

“STOP!”

She was standing a distance away, but her voice was louder than it should have been. They both looked up, the Predacon’s throat dying by the moment.

Megatron stared. Why would the human — the woman — be stopping her pet now?

“Just…” he took in her tattered sheath, one that was much like the one Tweety came to him in. The smears on her skin were of blood and grime. “Just… promise not to hurt him, and we’ll go with you.”

The beast growled low, leveling a look back at Megatron. The warlord growled right back, holding the power line back up.

“Wait!” She called. “Stop it, you goddamn idiots!”

They both paused, but still held each other’s gaze. Megatron sneered, and the beast snarled.

“Listen, Preds, we can’t do this. We won’t win.” She stared at the two, fire in her eyes. She now looked at Megatron. “Listen, if you promise not to hurt him, we’ll go with you.”

“You are in no position to bargain, rodent.” He held the sparking power line, his only defense, up towards Predaking like he would a sword. The beast breathed heavily, mandibles clicking.

“Yes, we are.” She spat back. “_You’re_ the one that is at the disadvantage here, by the looks of it, with the dummy arm, and all.”

He dared to flick his optics at her. “Then why are _you_ offering conditions of _surrender?_”

She laughed. “Because I know that even if he kills you then your goons are gonna be here soon, and that damn well won’t be as easy to deal with. So I’m gonna proposition you.”

She took a few steps forward. “Promise not to hurt him, and we’ll come quietly.”

The dragon snarled, looking at the girl with furious optics. Megatron was curious. _Does he really understand her?_

“Stop, Preds.” Her tone was flat. “We can’t hide forever, and when we have to run, we can’t do that forever, either.”

It hissed, swiveling that head back to Megatron. The warlord stared, lips thin, waiting. The beast’s maws opened, leaning forward. Megatron roared in protest.

And she was yelling again. “_Predaking, don’t!”_ But he swore her voices fell on deaf ears even as the beast’s neck swelled with that glow again, and before it could fully rise, Megatron thrusted the power line forward.

A screech tore through the room. It fell back from him, optics fritzing and limbs convulsing when it landed on the floor. Megatron jumped from the wall towards the girl.

She cursed and yelled even through the whiplash as he snatched her in his hands and turned back to face the Predacon. As Megatron predicted, the effects didn’t last long on his body. He was already staggering to his feet, drawing in ragged breaths.

It hissed lowly, mandibles clicking and eyes leveling on the woman in his hands. Megatron chuckled dryly, coughing a bit at the end. His HUD was flaring that something was wrong in his internals, but he didn’t much care at this moment. He was running on his war high. _And of course, not many mechs get to say they bested a Predacon._

She growled and hit his fist with a ferocity not even Tweety had brought home with her that first week, and his response was to shake her a bit. When he went still, she was laying limp over his curled fingers. The beast roared, crouching to lunge.

Megatron held her forward. “Hold it, beast. She’s not dead yet.” He rolled her out on his palm, digits clamping around her head to squeeze. “But she could be, if you don’t cooperate.”

The dragon snarled, tail flicking wildly behind him, wings flaring aggressively. He snorted and screeched in displeasure as he obviously thought through the situation and realized with a finality that, as it were, he most definitely had been had.

Just as Megatron began to sort through the best ways to make his demands simple for the creature to understand, he heard rumbling behind him. He wondered for a moment what it might be, but when he heard the screechy falsetto somewhere beneath the noises, he knew his backup had finally arrived.

He looked back to the beast as they began punching a hole through the rubble and making their way through, Starscream coming in first. Behind him, Megatron knew that he was staring slack-jawed at the creature of myth.

“Megatron!” The seeker was frozen, and soon Knockout and Breakdown were standing next to him in the same manner. “By the Pit, what-“

“Starscream, contact Soundwave. Tell him to bring a transport large enough for this animal.”

The seeker paused, eyes squinting in the darkness. He flicked on his headlights to get a better look, and the creature hissed at the intrusion.

Breakdown cocked his canons, and Megatron laughed. “Not to worry, Breakdown.” He met the Predacon’s dark glare stare for stare. “It… has it’s hands tied, as the humans would say.”

* * *

Tweety had been waiting for hours after Soundwave had dumped her back off at Darkmount. When she asked where Megatron was, she was given a glare, told to stay out of trouble, and left without even a way to get water or food. It did not improve her opinion of him after the stunt he pulled trying to get Megatron to kill her. _At least I think that’s what he was trying to do,_ she mused.

And so, when Megatron finally stumbled into the living room, she was more thana little miffed when he didn’t so much as even acknowledge her. She even called out to him for good measure, and he merely grunted in her direction.

She had seen him have bad days before, and knew it wasn’t wise to pester him now. But God, he was _not_ going to ignore her after she had been sitting here holding her bladder for half of the day.

“Hey!” She shouted. “Are you going to come let me down or what? I’m about to piss all over the coffee table.”

And back into the room he stumbled, and that’s when she realized that he wasn’t even quite… himself. His optics were looking past her, his face was inattentive, which it never was. She let out a muffled _oomph_ when he picked her up rather ungently.

“Megatron,” she struggled his grip, which was a fist, “are you okay?”

He grumbled. “Pain medications. Tired.”

She almost laughed at the unusually ineloquent response, until it registered. “Why are you on drugs? What happened?”

He either didn’t hear or didn’t care to answer, because he started making his way towards the bathroom and didn’t look at her. She pushed upwards and wriggled out of his fist, and she _knew_ he was out of it when he didn’t notice.

“Megatron. Look at me.”

He stopped and looked down, perplexed, as if he had forgotten she was there. “Tweety?”

“Megs.” She tested, unsure if she should continue. “What happened?”

He stared at her for a moment, blinking, until he sighed. “Predacon… Shockwave made a Predacon.”

“Preda-what?” She had the hardest time believing him. What was he _on?_

_“Predacon.”_ Said with emphasis, like _she_ was the one being strange. “Predacons are extinct… well, they were, at least…”

Then they were standing there and he seemed so confused she almost felt sorry for him. And then she was again reminded of her small emergency.

“Megs, bathroom, now.” When he started forward again, she fell to her hands to keep her balance on his loose fist. She realized that she was actually very likely to be dropped when he was in this state, and she clung a bit tighter.

Once they were in the bathroom, she relieved herself quickly, not so much for her own sake but for his. She was worried about leaving him alone for too long. She walked out of her small makeshift commode and came back to find he was gone.

“Megatron?” She panicked. Where would he go? How did he even _get_ here in the state he was in? “Megatron!”

He poked his head in the bathroom. “Huh?” His voice was even more gruff than before.

She sighed, resting her hands on her hips. “Come here and take me to the living room. We’re having chat.”

He squinted at her. “And what makes you say… think…” He fumbled a bit more, and then just _growled._

_So he does still have a bit of sense about him._ “Megatron,” she lowered her voice, “I have something important to tell you.”

His head cocked. “Important?” He was still suspicious, his squint all the more intense than last time. But it was hardly intimidating like it usually was. More comical than anything. She had to suppress a giggle.

“Yes. It’s important.” She held her hands up. “Take me to the living room.”

Megatron huffed, coming forward and picking her up. She smiled up at him, pointing out towards the door. "Let's get you set down on the couch, big guy. You could toop over at any moment."

He gave her another squint but followed her direction anyways, taking them towards the main living area. While they walked, she just now noticed that his right shoulder was immobile and that arm hung slack at his sides. Was that why he was so drugged up?

She leaned forward, trying to get a better look. "What happened with your shoulder?" It was braced at the joint with some kind of device she hadn't seen before.

"Dislocated,” he muttered, sounding even more groggy, “by dragon."

She looked up at him. "A _dragon?_ What do you mean a dragon?"

He sighed. "Dragon. Predacons are usually... dragons. Or something like one."

She looked at him like he was crazy, but he didn't much respond. They were already in the living room and he was setting them down, flopping himself down on the couch like a rag doll. She almost lost her grip as the air rushed past her in the movement.

He let out a big exhale, sinking down and getting comfortable. He was sprawled out, arms lax at his sides and knees askew. She moved off to the side, sliding down his thigh and finding a comfortable spot on the couch for herself before she looked back at him.

She watched him for a moment before speaking. "... Megatron?"

He grunted back, eyes already closed and head lolling to the side.

She moved a bit closer, a hand resting on his knee. "What happened to this... Predacon?"

He snorted, a smile twitching at his lips. "It's at HQ's underground sectors... I think Motormaster has first watch..." he smirked properly. “But I don't think it will try anything since he has the woman."

"The woman? A _human_ woman?"

Megatron gave a nod. Tweety felt her heart beating faster. "Was she in... Shockwave's labs?"

"Mmhmm." Megatron stretched an arm behind his head. "I think she was part of an experiment or something... maybe... doesn't matter."

She worried now. This... made a certain amount of sense... but she had a feeling that there were pieces she wasn't being told. But how to get them when she didn't even know how far she could push Megatron in this state?

"Are there any other injuries besides your shoulder?" She picked at a small nick in his knee joint. He didn't so much as twitch like he usually would.

"No." He mumbled. "My spark hurt a bit after, but Knockout sent me home anyways."

She glanced up from the cut. "Your spark? Isn't that... your heart, or whatever? What's wrong with it?"

He tensed up. She felt it under her hands. He looked down at her, his eyes aware and focused like they usually were, if just for a moment. He held her gaze for a moment before he went lax again, optics closing. "You... weren't supposed to hear that."

She waited for him to continue, but he simply laid back against the couch again. She felt her face flush. "If there's something critically wrong with you, Megatron, something life-threatening, I think I deserve to know about it."

He almost seemed to dismiss her, but settled for sneering down at her instead. "Why? Why... would you need to know?"

She snarled back. "I would need to know because my entire _life_ revolves around you, even though I wish it wouldn't." She sat up, ticking items off on her fingers. "You feed me, bathe me, dress me, and even put me to bed. Hell, I can't even go to the _bathroom_ if you're not around, so if one day you just plan to croak over on me, I think I deserve a way to at least get that done in an emergency!"

He huffed, turning his head away from her in a way that she could only describe as _petulant._ If he had been sober, he might've taken her to the bathroom right then and there for one of his drowning sessions.

But she also knew that the only way to get the truth out of him right now was to play a bit on his heart strings, so with a bit of hesitance, she told part of what she wished _wasn't_ the truth. "And... and I care."

Such a long pause. She slowly tensed the longer it stretched, and flinched when he raised his head and looked her over. Something was turning behind his eyes.

“You’re… you are,” he struggled for the words, “… well?”

She laughed. She couldn’t help it. The worry in her brain wasn’t gone, but she felt herself laughing at the _ridiculousness_ of this situation. How was she even going to get him back to bed if he was that foggy? She felt tears prickling at her eyes as she wheezed against his thigh, beating it with her fist. She imagined that her rough hits probably felt like little taps to him, which made her laugh even harder.

After a good minute she sat upright, her hand resting on his thigh. She pushed her mussed-up dreadlocks back. “Yes, Megatron, I’m good.”

He looked very concerned. She had to fight down giggles throughout his response, “But then why are you… saying… you like me?”

She snorted. “I don’t _like_ you, I-“ And she stopped, realizing.

_I do like him._

It suddenly hit like a freight train and a landslide and a meteor hurling from the sky, leavening nothing to doubt and nothing to say and she _liked him._ She genuinely liked him. She couldn’t _not_ after all he had… done for her.

She tried to say it was Stockholm syndrome, but her thoughts gave a resounding _no._ Her heart said _yes_, yes, she was there, sitting next to him, watching his optics try to puzzle through this situation, scrutinize and plan and scheme and set the world aflame, and she liked it. She liked _him._ It wasn’t complicated.

_But how it is. Oh, for God’s sake. Why?_ She felt tears brimming. _Why?_

“Tweety.” He demanded, bringing her back bit by bit. “Tweety!”

“Okay, okay,” she stumbled on her way to her feet, trying to get them under her. “I’ve- okay. Just listen.”

“Tweety.” His hand was suddenly around her, scooping her up without the gentleness he tried to have, knocking her on her ass and pulling her up to his face. It was twisted with some kind of pain she couldn’t decipher, a message of a dead language, a set of stars from another galaxy. “Tweety… I…”

And then, everything began tipping. _He_ began tipping, taking her with him, that fathomless quality in his optics not a constellation or words but a real fresh pain that had him gripping his chest on the way down.

She was thrown into the air, landing somewhere on the futon. The world shook with a _thud_, a harsh tremor afterwards. She felt herself trying not to scream, trying not to panic, pulling herself onto her hands and knees and turning to crawl towards him.

He was lain across the footstool, grimacing and panting as he trembled and shook. She touched his arm when she finally came close enough. Something wasn’t quite right with her leg. “Megatron?”

A low rumble, a groan came from him, and he reached his hand up to his communicator without a word. She heard the little tell-tale _reep-reep_ that was the connection being made. She had heard it more than once, having sat on his shoulder enough.

“Soundwave, reporting, Lord-“

“Get here,” he panted. A long pause, where Soundwave almost interrupted, but Megatron continued: “Get here… _now._ Spark attack. Tweety… she…”

She watched those optics flutter, shut, and then he slumped forward, legs giving out from under him. She swore she stood for several moments before she realized that the line was still open and Soundwave was calling to him over and over again. She raised her voice to try and speak, but the definitive _reeep_ told her she was too late.

She rocked forward, dragging the burnt leg and curling up next to him. His system’s hummed, his face was lax. But she knew something was wrong. Something was so _wrong._

She willed herself not to cry. She did anyways. Even when Soundwave came, bearing gifts of a consoling Darren and a competent Knockout and Breakdown to haul her master to safety, she still cried, and she couldn’t stop the tears from falling many hours afterwards.

Because just when she had her love, she had lost it.

* * *

She worried with the bracelet, flipping the links between her fingers. Darren had asked her when she had gotten another one — it had almost been public knowledge now, the exact occurrence of events in Shockwave’s labs — but she didn’t respond.

She wondered how many hours he had worried about the design. A few weeks, maybe even just a few days earlier, she wouldn’t have believed he even specified anything about it other than that it should send by-the-minute coordinate updates to his specific signal. But she knew better now. The gentle weight wasn’t meant to be cumbersome, overbearing, a constant looming threat. It was like a friendly hand placed gently on a shoulder to comfort, a signal, a constant promise that _I’m here._

_God. How could I be so stupid?_

“Tweety.” Darren scooted closer for the umpteenth time. He truly had never understood personal space, but now, she supposed it didn’t matter. “Talk to me. Please.”

She twiddled the bracelet once more, then set her hands down in her lap, staring off at the wall of the waiting room. They had been there for hours, but she wasn’t quite sure that time even existed there. She was rather sure of the place where she was at in her _mind,_ in the place where she should control something.

_He’s giving me his answer, sitting there on the couch, and he’s saying, “I thought you would never say it.”_

Heart aching, throat contracting and her eyes welling again, she turned away from the thought and pulled herself back together again. Darren was there. Other people were there. She couldn’t let them know what was happening inside.

She was going to prove this boy sitting next to her _wrong._ She was going to fix everything, they were going to be fine, they were going to be _wonderful_ and he would never hurt her again and they would give each other gentle smiles when no one was looking and-

_“Tweety._ You need to talk to me, or I’m going to call Breakdown to give you a psyche eval.”

This little, angry, hurt side of her had not gotten over their latest argument, and she whipped around to look at him perhaps just a bit too aggressively. She saw the look in his eyes. He was a bit scared of her. She _liked_ it that way.

She held his gaze even as he drew closer again, grabbing her hands and holding them in his lap. She stiffened, but let him do it, not sure what to do. She felt the deer in headlights affect taking her over.

“Tweety,” and how she was beginning to _hate_ him saying her name, with how many times he had said it in the past few hours, “tell me what’s going on. Tell me what you’re thinking.”

And there they were again, those damned tears. Just the suggestion of what was going on- in there- the operating… room…

They spilled over before she could pull a hand out of Darren’s grip to wipe at them, but she still tried, using her sleeve to dab at them ineffectively.

She was pulled into his embrace, and she decided she might as well let it happen without much of a place to go or a place to be, a _thing_ to be, not much of anything at all. She felt some kind of emptiness overtaking her; a precise nothingness clamoring over her bones, turning them to void, her brain shutting down synapse by synapse. Connections closed off micron by micron. Stillness.

It felt nice in that embrace, to be not much of anything and a whole lot of nothing. Even if just for the few moments she had that comfort, it was nice.

Because, the door to the operating room just had to open at that moment.

She jerked away in an instant to look. Knockout, as windswept, battered, energon-stained as she had ever seen him, was striding through that doorway with a purpose in his step she hadn’t ever witnessed. And he was heading for _her._

Stopping in front of her, hands lax at his sides, he began unceremoniously: “I need to you tell me exactly what was happening before he collapsed.”

And that brain was suddenly very much _connected_ and wired and whirring away at this enormous problem before her. What was she to do? _Tell him_ she was confessing her love, her general likeness, her-

And the tears were coming again, but before she could duck her head, Knockout was kneeling and gripping her face between his fingers. Not too hard, but not soft, either. Firm. _Determined._

“Tweety.” Steadying breath. “You need to tell me everything right now, because if you don’t he’s going to die. Doyou understand me? Do you want him to die?”

She tried to shake her head, but she knew he more or less just felt the back and forth resistance in his digits. He was staring so evenly and so calmly, none of the flambouyancy of his usual persona, but all of the confidence, if not more so than usual. A calm settled over her, and she almost felt herself letting it slip.

_You can’t tell him. You can’t._

“We were just talking.” She gulped. “We were talking- and- and he just collapsed. He was holding me. I hit the couch. I haven’t been able to move my leg since.”

It still was numb, but she had been ignoring it for awhile now. It wasn’t important, not with him in there. Not with him clinging to life and-

“There’s more. There’s got to be.”

She was again making connections and feeling the room get brighter and his hands get hotter and _I cannot tell I cannot tell I cannot-_

“He was drugged.” She said, feebly, and the fingers finally loosened and fell. “He was drugged. Couldn’t that have something to do with it?”

Knockout laughed. “Not likely. Just pain medications. I’ve given them to him hundreds of times throughout the eons and he’s never done this. He’s never just up and-“ and then he stopped, shaking his head and pinching the bridge of his nose, optics screwed shut tight. “Are you sure there’s nothing else? Not… was he upset? Were you arguing?”

She shook her head. He… had been calm. He… had been calm… she _thinks…_

And he was blowing a furious ex-vent through thin lips, standing back up. Without another word, he was marching back through the doors, them closing shut with a metallic _shink._

And she was alone again. Except, there was Darren’s hand closing back around her’s, scooting up closer to her. “I’m really worried about your leg… still no feeling in it?”

She shook her head, eyes still wide and fixed on the doors. “Nothing…”

He shook her shoulder. “Tweety. There’s nothing you can do. It’s… he’s-“

She was looking back at him, hurt in her eyes. “And that’s the point. I _can’t_ do anything.”

He was quiet, even as she turned back around to look at the doors. And then he was back at it, “Are you… what happened, exactly? Walk me through it. Before he collapsed.”

_Would they all stop trying to get into my head and get it out of me and-_ “We we’re talking. About the new Predacon. What happened. He showed up all drugged and everything, and I was worried about his collapse the day Shockwave took me,” it still sent chills up her spine, only forgetting the trauma in this short stint of terror about Megatron’s state, “and so we… talked about that.”

“And then he just collapsed. Like that.”

“Yes. Like that. Just… fell over. He got Soundwave on the line and said a few words right before he went down.”

“What were they?”

“Soundwave. Spark break. Tweety… something something. I dunno. It wasn’t important when you’re watching your-“ and here she was going to finish with _watching your life die before your eyes,_ but decided that wouldn’t be wise under the circumstances. She waited a few moments, but he didn’t push her unfinished thought.

He was kneeling behind her, still holding her hand, thumb making little smoothing circles across her palm. She felt him take a breath in like he was going to say something more than once, but each time, he just seemed to stop himself. Finally, she was done with it.

Whipping her head around, she glared. “Whatever you’re going to say, you’re going to _say it_ whether I want to hear it or not, so just get it over with and _say it.”_

He gulped. “Okay.”

She turned back around, and then waited. Another breath.

“If you want me to just ‘say it,’ I’ll just say it: I think this is going to be good.”

Her heart, thudding so fast already, double-timed, even as her body seemed to move so slow to look at the boy. This… this _boy_ who… who…

“Why?” was all she could mutter, staring at him, feeling something hot and heavy and most definitely not the tears she had been experiencing sit right behind her eyes, something from her brain. Something that boiled up her throat like rising bile and vomit and something that stung and _burned_ so very very hot.

He saw it, too. She thought he might have even felt it, how very hot it was, and he didn’t even try to back away. He knew it was coming and would get him one way or another.

With something just as intense in his eyes as in her’s, he continued, “Because he’ll be gone. And then he couldn’t hurt you.”

She felt her heart thumping, thudding it’s way through her ribcage, like someone was taking an iron and beating on it from the inside out, and, “You don’t know _anything_ about either of us. Not a single. Damn. Thing.”

He was smiling now. _Smiling._ “You’re going to see. I’m sure you’ll come live with me and Soundwave — or at least go to one of the other officers, one of the nicer ones. I’ll make sure of it, Soundwave will listen to me. He has first say over what happens to Megatron’s estate. It’s in his will. And as soon as you’re away from him, you’ll-“

And then there was the sudden _crack_ of her fist connecting to his jaw, and they were sprawled on the tabletop, she beating every last inch of his face into the floor and then there were hands snatching her up- lifting her away- those spindly fingers, they’re-

Soundwave had picked them up. Soundwave had set her back down, and then there was even Starscream holding her, keeping her away, because she had tried to crawl out of Soundwave’s one hand into the other where Darren was. It was a little chaotic — she couldn’t quite tell what was happening, or when, or where they were, but when the yelling stopped and she had a moment to breathe she saw Darren’s tears mixing with the blood on his face and by God she _liked it._

“You don’t know anything!” She screamed. “You don’t know a single damn _thing! Do you understand me?_ Not a _thing!”_

Darren scoffed, over there, safe in Soundwave’s grip. _Soundwave. Why would I want to live with Soundwave? He tried to kill me._

“You just don’t get it.” He sniffed, voice above it’s normal tone, higher than it’s usual soft tenor. The mechs were talking, she knew — “Aw, they’re having a little spat-“ “Quiet Starscream.” — but it was white noise in her ears. She only saw the boy that had so succinctly shredded her already bruised and battered heart.

“You don’t get it, Darren.” She yelled. “I’m fine. I don’t need you.”

“But I need _you,”_ a little break in his voice turned the scream into a sob, “but all you ever worry about is _him.”_

And that very, very hot thing in her brain — that great big demanding beast — suddenly started getting very quiet. “You…”

“I just…” he suddenly squirmed. “Soundwave, put me down.”

“That is not wise Dar-“

“Just put me down. She’s not going to try to hit me again.”

Soundwave seemed very, very hesitant to put his human in the line of fire again, but he lowered his hand to the tabletop once more and Starscream did as well. And then she was again facing him, chest heaving. But the anger was gone.

She looked into his red-rimmed eyes and saw something that she hadn’t quite seen before. Something that she knew had always been there but that she had never given another thought.

“You know I like you.” He spat it out, almost like a curse. “I know you do.”

“I know.” She nodded numbly. “I do.”

He threw his hands up. “Then why don’t you do something about it? You always-“ his voice seized up, and he struggled for a moment, “You always worry so much about Megatron. Every time I talk to you, it’s Megatron. I don’t always talk about Soundwave, do I? I don’t always worry about Soundwave.”

And here he leaned in close, mindful of his onlookers. “And that’s how you know something is wrong. When you can’t get your mind off of him, not even for a moment.”

Starscream wandered off, and she could tell Soundwave was even getting less interested, perhaps despite his instincts. But she still wouldn’t fess up. Not with such a commotion around them. “It’s not-“

“But it _is.”_ He railed, voice raising, and suddenly Soundwave was being beckoned into the operating room once more. He was gone. It was just her and Darren. “It is, Tweety, it certainly is that way. You just don’t want to see it. That’s what he’s done to you.”

He leaned in close, so close she could feel the heat on his face, smell his tears and his sweat. “I love you. He most certainly doesn’t.”

She trembled, and his hands were around her’s again. He was leaning in closer.

“I really do. I really love you.”

She hiccuped, but he was there, at her lips, swallowing it and all the sorrow with it whole. She heard a catcall, a whistle, but she didn’t care.

She loved him too.

* * *

_He’s alive. I know he is. There is spark in him, and Energon flows through his body. I can _feel_ it._

_He is here. He is _here._ I can feel him, I can see him there-_

And then there was light, blinding and waking him increment by increment, the haze in his mind dispersing like driving through the edge of fog. He was small, and not quite ready. Not quite yet.

_But,_ he thought, _he’s _here._ I know he is. He’s right here. I-_

Looking to the horizons, he saw that in fact that wasn’t him. That it was… something left over.

_He’s not there. He’s… he’s-_

“Megatron!”

The High Lord jumped from his stasis like a body repossessed, jerking upright and systems straining with the sudden exertion. He immediately took in his surroundings — there was beeping, _So I’m in the medbay,_ and there was Knockout and Breakdown and Soundwave was just coming in.

But there was no… no _him._

“Lord Megatron,” Soundwave was at his side far too quickly, his EM field radiating his anxiousness, “I am so glad you are back to the land of the living. We weren’t sure-“

“Soundwave, give him some air,” and there was Knockout, shooing him away. Soundwave stepped back immediately and without another word, and then Breakdown was coming up next to him and wordlessly checking pulse and vitals and some things that just didn’t really seem to matter at that moment.

Because he wasn’t _there._

“Knockout,” Megatron began, his voice uncharacteristically small, “where-“

“Hold up, Megatron,” and here the doctor looked nervous, cutting him off, “we need to check some things out before-“

“But where is-“ Breakdown jerked a syringe into his elbow suddenly, and Megatron flinched in response. It only distracted him momentarily. He need to know where-

But he _did._ He did know where.

He felt the world crashing down around him afresh, like it was happening all over again. Like-

“Megatron, look at me-“ The beeping was intensifying. “Megatron, _look at-“_

“I’m fine.” Shaking his head, he repeated it again. “I’m fine.” He was coming back to grips with it, where _he_ was, what was happening. The Predacon, the pains afterwards, Tweety- oh, and what had come of Tweety and-

Oh. _Tweety._

“I need to go see her, I-“ Breakdown stopped him from trying to stand, and with regaining his senses also came his characteristic ire. He looked the nurse and the doctor in the eyes and repeated himself lowly. “I need to see Tweety.”

Outside, he was calm, but inside, he felt his processor frizzing over trying to remember what had happened. Something _important,_ he knew, but what exactly had she meant when she said… that? Was it…

He could barely comprehend it. It almost made him laugh the longer he thought about it, but he restrained his humor for the sake of his already shaky sanity. But the longer he turned it over, the more he realized that it _could_ have been what she meant. That it would have been in her style. Would have made a certain amount of sense, even.

He felt his armor clamping up, his spark whirring angrily at him. So many memories of old things and old sparks and something big and looming and most certainly the shadow of _him_ was staring directly at his soul.

_Primus, what am I going to do?_

“Megatron, we can’t let you see her yet.” Knockout was standing there, holding his hands at his sides, but he could see the twitches. The doctor had a tendency to start up dramatic gestures when he was trying to reason but Megatron had snapped at him more than once that it made him want to punch the sports car. “You’re still much too unstable, and you really need to rest.”

His face hardened another increment. “I can walk just fine. I need to see-“

And then he heard it — her voice raised, her screams making it all the way through the fifteen feet of solid steel, and he was up in an instant, and sprawled on the floor the next.

Breakdown’s hands grabbed around him, trying to help him up through his fall. He barely registered them. She sounded angry, not hurt, but who knows who that other voice yelling belonged to.

“Megatron!” Breakdown had gotten him back to his feet, but he was pulling himself out of his hands. The blue mech clamped down on his arm harder.

Knockout was approaching from behind, “Megatron, you need to lie back down.” The warlord rounded on him as best the could, jerking around in Breakdown’s grasp. His optics flashed.

“You will escort me to the waiting room this instant.” His voice was hard, his fists clenching. Breakdown’s optics were flicking between his patient and the doctor.

And then, the screaming stopped. Megatron’s spark skipped as he pulled up the vital signs for Tweety on his HUB, seeing her heart rate accelerating and her body temperature spiking. She was _scared._

He jerked his way out of Breakdown’s hands, stumbling to the door and flinging it open. The brightness of the room blinded him momentarily. He blinked away the temporary stars until he could see them.

She was standing on a couch end, and Darren was with her. Against her. Holding her elbows, pulling them close together, he had his lips against hers. She moved her hands to his chest, the tips of her fingers just touching his sweatshirt. They never saw him watching.

And God, how he _watched._ He couldn’t tear his eyes away. He felt his whole frame go rigid and his spark slow to a halt.

_“And… and I care.”_

Tweety broke apart from Darren to look around at the jeers, but Darren pulled her back in; his hand snaked around her neck and brought her forehead to his, and he gave her a grin. She stared in his eyes, unblinking and blank-faced, but the message was clear. Those green orbs were twinkling.

Megatron felt this little hiccup in his chest grow throughout his limbs, like antifreeze was being poured into his fuel lines. It took a few tries to reboot his vocalizer.

“Tweety.” He got it out on the third try, and she suddenly backed away from Darren at the rasp of his voice. He wasn’t angry — not now. His thoughts blurred and formed something keening in him, something hollow and achy. He realized a bit late that he had called out to her uselessly, pathetically. He hadn’t followed up with a thought, but how could he when he was watching her kiss him?

And then he rebuked himself. She was staring at him and he knew Darren must have been staring too, as well as everyone in the entire room, but he wasn’t doing anything. Inappropriate for one of his stature.

“Tweety,” he cleared his throat, continuing, “we’re leaving soon. Get ready.”

“Megatron, you’re-“

“Now, Tweety,” he barked, voice suddenly harsh. Her eyes widened and she jumped — she wasn’t used to receiving such commands lately, he knew it startled her. His spark twisted even tighter at the thought.

He backed from the doorway back into the operating room, leaning against the wall and letting the door shut out all of… that something. His arm slumped to his side, his left one coming up to hold his chassis around his spark chamber. It was spinning and revving erratically because of his sudden exertion, but this pain was new. This pain was different.

“Megatron, you should lay back down.” Breakdown was at his side again, slinging his arm over his shoulders and guiding him back to the operating bed. He followed without protest. He was too preoccupied to protest.

_What… what was that?_ His thoughts raged on even as Knockout started rattling off statistics and instructions for home care. Breakdown settled him to sit on the side of the berth, and Megatron braced it with his servos.

_Tweety… Tweety said…_

“Lord Megatron, I need you to pay attention.” He looked up to see Knockout holding a data pad in one hand and a stylus in the other. His expression was one of frazzled irritation. “Now, I’m going to be writing these extra prescriptions for you, and I need to see you back next week-”

“You don’t want to keep me?” Megatron didn’t say so because he _wanted _to stay. It was because Knockout always tried to make him.

Knockout grinned. “And we both know that it doesn’t really matter what I want at this point, now does it? I’m just going to try and make sure that you don’t croak in your sleep.” He looked back down to his data pad, juggling his stylus with his fingers. “Now, those prescriptions are to be taken…”

As soon as Megatron had heard that Knockout wasn’t going to try and hold him hostage — or to try and _convince_ the warlord that he need to be held hostage, as Megatron would never be corralled or controlled — he had stopped listening. His thoughts were back on Tweety; her cheeks had been flushed, her pupils dilated high, her lips held agape and slightly puckered. All because of _him._ Darren.

He felt the jealousy, the rage, the _hurt_ flooding into him all at once while he sat there on the berth. His frame hunched and groaned quietly underneath the strain of his tension. She had _said-_

_But that doesn’t matter. You don’t even _care.

He felt his own faceplates heating up. He was insistent: _You do not care, you do not care, she’s a _human_. You would have put her in her place as the _pet_ she is and… wait…_

That’s why he was angry. She was going around him and flirting with another _human male_ without his permission. She knew the laws. Humans were forbidden fraternization with the opposite sex unless given permission by both owners. And she was disobeying him _in the lobby while he was on his deathbed._

He felt his processor fritzing. He was going to _kill her._

“My liege, before you leave, may I speak with you?”

Megatron whipped his helm up to see Soundwave standing there, as calm and neutral as ever. He was never quite sure how the sight of his third officer could placate him so, but he had to release a huff to destress.

“Yes, Soundwave?”

“This development between our humans was unauthorized.” _So he sees it too! Perhaps he could kill Darren and then I could keep her-_ “Despite that, I would like to negotiate terms for allowing this relationship to continue.”

Megatron’s thoughts hit the brakes and gave a screech as they came to a halt. Negotiate terms? Relationship… _continue?_

“I know this is sudden, and you might want to talk about this later as you are currently disposed with your recovery,” Soundwvae continued, nodding towards the lines Breakdown was unhitching from his frame. “But I would appreciate if you were to clear a slot in your schedule when you return to Darkmount so we can have a proper discussion.”

Megatron felt his processor suggesting a plethora of responses: _They are not to be allowed within a mile of each other. You can shove your propositions and terms up your exhaust pipe. I would rather be thrown into the Pit than allow him to touch her again._ And his favorite: _I’ll save you the wait and give you the negotiation’s outcome now: you are to go home and kill that mongrel. That is an order._

But apparently his face was belaying his difficulties, because Soundwave jumped back in again: “You see, Darren, he’s… he’s been displaying interest in Tweety for awhile. And she… appears to have been reciprocating before this incident_.”_

She had been reciprocating? For a while? Megatron felt his spark aching again.

_“And… and I care.”_

_… Lies. All lies._

“Statistics show that humans with stable romantic relationships tend to have longer lifespans and better performance. As I use Darren in work, and as Tweety has a history of giving you difficulties, I believe it may be beneficial to see if their involvement in each other will increase Darren’s output and improve Tweety’s behavior.”

Megatron’s optics were hollow, flicking up and down Soundwave’s visor. There was a pause.

“Fine.”

“… I was not expecting a decision to be met today, Lord Megatron. I understand if-“

“Fine is _fine,_ Soundwave. Let me know when you will bring him by,” he sighed, “for visitations.”

Soundwave’s visor brightened if just a fraction. “Affirmative. I will allow you to settle in before I attempt to setup an appointment. Would it be helpful if I took Tweety for a few days-“

“No!” His growl was aggressive, boisterous, animalistic, something that hadn’t been heard in the past few hundred years, and something he had almost never used on Soundwave. All activity in the operating room stopped, and Knockout shuffled back a step from the berth.

He realized he was venting heavily, and swallowed a breath to calm himself. He tried to rise off the berth again, and when he hesitated, Breakdown offered him a cane. He grabbed it without a word.

He turned back to Soundwave as he settled on it. “No, she will remain with me.” He glowered at the floor in his path as he made his way across the room and opened the door.

She was sitting quietly with Darren, and leapt to her feet when she saw him enter. She was rushing towards the tabletop as he approached, toes curled over the edge in that peculiar show of fearlessness. She stared up at him and smiled. He did not return it, as he usually did in public, and she knew he was upset. He could see it in her forced expression.

After the silenced had stretched on longer than comfortable, she was the one to break it. “Are we going now?”

His optics flicked all over her face, trying to see if they had been at it again while he was gone. He didn’t think so. Her cheeks were a milky coffee color as usual. “Yes.” He flicked his optics to Darren, squinting. “We are.”

He offered her a flat palm, and she clambered onto it with her usual exuberance. Knockout was then outside, handing him prescriptions that he subspaced. He talked in general terms — and Megatron noticed Tweety staring up and trying to decipher what was being said. Knockout seemed to notice too; he slipped into outright Cybertronian halfway through their discussion.

But Megatron wasn’t too concerned by all that. He felt his digits curling closer around her with every glance at Darren. Soundwave approached and picked up the boy. He tried to do it discreetly, but he was looking at Tweety. His eyes were soft.

And for the hundredth time that night, Megatron seethed.

* * *

Tweety had tried not to think about this day too much while she had waited for it. But she knew that it was coming, and she had given up on making a good excuse to not come. She even considered stealing some bread from Darren’s kitchen while she had been over there so she would be sick, but quickly dismissed it. He might have gotten in trouble with how Megatron had been acting around him lately.

And on that thought, she _knew_ something was up with her master. Something had been eating away at him from the moment he had walked out of the operating room, and her and Darren had been… together. Very obviously.

She felt herself blushing furiously and made herself look to the sky to try and think about something else. If she wasn’t careful, Megatron would be sure to goad her about her rising temperature.

But it wouldn’t be a playful stab, necessarily. Not anymore. They were once again in one of their extreme swings, and she was very unsure what exactly to do to fix it.

And Megatron had been different this time around. He hadn’t been trying to drown her or break her arm. He had been… distant. Aloof. And she had this disturbing feeling like he was unusually aware of her, frequently, almost constantly. Especially around Darren. And it seemed like every moment she spent with Darren, it put more distance between her and Megatron.

She seriously wondered if he remembered her confession. She assumed he hadn’t because he had never brought it back up. But then, why would he if it was obvious that she was now interested in the other human? And that was a question she wasn’t sure how to answer. She knew a lot about Megatron, but that knowledge mostly revolved around how to tell he was about to fly into a rage and the particular meanings of each of his glares.

And there was no way she was going to bring the subject back up. No way. Not a chance. _I can imagine it now: Megatron’s furious glare, his… or would it be furious? Would he be mad or would he be dismissive? Or worse, would he actually say he was _hurt_? And what if he didn’t remember? What then?_

She realized then that perhaps the scariest part of her predicament was that she was completely unsure of how Megatron would react to any move she made. And she hadn’t really had that kind of uncertainty with him in any part of their relationship. He had always been predictable in his anger and in his moments of peace, at least. Volatile and sudden, but predictable.

She pulled her dreads over her shoulder to fiddle with them. Megatron shifted under her as he banked downward.

“We’re almost here,” he said quietly, a warning to prepare for transformation._ That’s the other thing,_ she grumbled, _he’s also being _courteous_ now._

She tensed as he flipped up and over himself, and somewhere in the mess of shifting, spinning metal they ended up upright on the concrete. She untucked her head from her lap and rolled over in his palm, sitting upright and trying to make the world _stay_ upright. No matter how much she went through transformation with him, it was still disorienting.

They were at some kind of storage facility in downtown Iacon that had been housing Shockwave’s articles. It was perhaps four or five stories, all perhaps two or three times the height of Megatron. Looking up at the massive structure only made her post-transformation dizziness worse.

He strode in the ground doors without second thought. She wondered why as he usually preferred to go through the stairwells at the tops of buildings that were specifically for flyers. But she understood when he strode across the lobby, the crowd parting for him as he went, because they were going down.

This building was definitely from before the war, when war-builds were not common in Iacon, because the rapidly descending corridor was cramped for one of Megatron’s size. But within a few paces the passage curved and opened up to a large amphitheater; mechs and femmes milled around the spacious stands and took in the refurbished decor, the spiraling crystal pillars overarching the roof and the scaling columns on all sides. And then she knew that this had not originally been a storage facility, no, it had been a Cybertronain opera house.

Megatron was met with bows as he strode past, some of the lower caste unused to his presence and suddenly dropping to bent knees. She hadn’t really expected to see many besides officers, so she was surprised by the turnout.

“Why would so many come to Shockwave’s auction?” She felt herself whispering up at him, aware of the eyes of commoners locking on her when they realized who, _what_ he was holding.

Megatron didn’t look at her, keeping his gaze on the crowd. “They’re all looking for opportunity, because even the poor know a bargain when they see it. Shockwave was a military officer and the opportunity to own even a small piece of his inventory would draw a crowd. And I’m sure that the drama that has surrounded his treason attracted a good lot of simple onlookers to the occasion.”

She pursed her lips. “I suppose.” She looked up at him, her dreads shifting. “But why would you allow them to come? They’re just taking up space.”

His optics flashed a bit, and she almost flinched back until she recognized the look for what it was. Appraisal, not irritation. And then he gave her a little smirk.

“Because they’re worth the space if they get to see his possessions pawned off for scrap.” She felt his servo tense, and his voice got quieter… sinister. The next words were enunciated clearly, deliberately, and she felt his optics trying to push a deeper meaning into her. “They need to know what happens when _someone_ tries to take what’s _mine.”_

Before she had the chance to contemplate what exactly _that_ had meant, Megatron opened the doors to a box. Soundwave and a gaggle of other officers were already there. And she felt her heart warm at the sight of Darren suddenly sitting up at the sound of the doors opening, seeing her, and waving.

She felt the servo around her, not tense, but grow cold. She didn’t want to look up to see Megatron’s expression. She made a conscious decision not to.

Without saying a word, Megatron moved forward and dumped her on the same tabletop that Darren was on. He turned just as abruptly and walked towards the group, greeting Soundwave with a clap on the shoulder.

Both her and Darren watched him a bit longer than would be normal, but when they looked back neither made mention of it. He immediately wrapped her in a hug, and she tucked her head under his chin and allowed herself to be folded into his chest. She sniffed his shirt. He had been baking again. _That means cookies._

Cookies she couldn’t have. She had long grown used to her intolerance, but sometimes she really wished she could try just _one_ bite to see just how good he was. She sighed, pulling away enough to fiddle with the basket he had brought them in. “So, what did you make today? Your favorite? Jaffa cakes?”

“No, chocolate chip.” He smiled at her. “And they’re for you, actually.”

She turned around in his embrace, almost nose to nose. “I can’t. You kn-“

“Gluten free.” He smiled. Her eyes widened, but he continued, “they might be a bit on the crumbly side, though. I tried to make them a bit-“

And then she smashed her lips against his, pulling him closer by the shoulders. She pulled back and stared, then went in again.

He pulled away and smiled. “I didn’t think-“

“How did- is that-“ She laughed. “How? They don’t import… _anything_ for gluten free stuff. Megatron tried, and then gave up. There isn’t any reason too.”

He shrugged, ducking his head a bit shyly. “Well, I have my ways. You’re just gonna have to trust me.”

She thought of questioning it, but smiled regardless. She reached over and grabbed one from the basket, letting herself sniff. Smelled like a cookie, but…

She took a little nibble, and mouthed it. Another bite, a large one this time, and she was beaming, nodding enthusiastically and giggling with him.

“Happy you like them,” he laughed as she reached for another.

“You _are_ good at this.” She mumbled through a mouthful, and she knew she was getting crumbles all over her shirt and probably even him. _But they’re just too damn good. Years since I had a cookie — it’s worth it._

He smiled, leaning in and taking a bite from the cookie in her hand. She giggled, trying to wrest it away from him, and soon it was a battle. She squealed as he lifted her when she tried to bolt. He locked her in his arms and leaned forward, bumping noses, pulling their mouths closer. Her mouth was open, ready, and she felt his warm breath puffing against her lips and tongue.

“Tweety.”

All movement ceased. She didn’t even really flick her head up to see him, but she gave him a sideways glance. “Yes?”

Megatron shifted his hips, rolling a palm flat on the table. “The auction is about to start.”

She took in his face, her own blank. His optics were hollow but hot, and he was somewhere between frowning and glaring. She couldn’t identify the emotion. He merely looked repressed. _De-_pressed.

It was becoming a standoff, and she realized that mechs were staring. She pulled herself out of Darren’s arms and hopped into his servo. He turned and left Darren with a finality that made her want complain and stamp her foot for emphasis, and she wasn’t sure why.

But the crowd was drowning all that out, because everyone was milling about for their seats as a mech took center stage on the floor far below. It was very, very far away, and if he hadn’t had been so massive she wouldn’t have been able to see his beaming face.

And to her shock, the first thing that came out of his mouth was Cybertronian. She didn’t really understand why she was shocked, though; it made sense that a Cybertronian auction would be held in their mother tongue.

But she still felt a bit… _miffed_ that she had to sit here with Megatron for no other reason but to be his accessory. At least, that’s what she thought her purpose was. _Not really sure anymore, honestly._

But things were making more sense. As he took his seat, Soundwave and Starscream materialized at his sides, taking up spacious recliners and the quiet electronic chatter around them dissipating as the lights began to dim in the stadium. The doors behind them opened, and a whisper coming from Megatron’s shoulder made her turn and look.

A servant was holding a bottle out, an offer. Megatron let them cycle through a selection before nodding at one, and the mech moved on to Starscream.

The booming voice overhead had her whipping back to the stage, where she watched the announcer taking a stroll as he spoke to the audience. Some inflection was lost in the harsh clips and low warbles, but she understood he was revving them up for what was to come.

She was so preoccupied with deciphering his meaning that she didn’t notice Megatron’s servo creep up behind her, and slip underneath her shirt. She rose and bristled as he feathered the dimples in her low back.

“H-hey-“

He hooked the tip of his digit under her waistband and jerked her back, making her fall flat on her front. The jar made her go stiff.

“Be quiet.” He murmured, digits roving up. “I’ll get a blanket so you don’t get cold.”

Her face contorted in confusion. “Me-Megatron…?”

She didn’t finish the question, and he didn’t answer. She had no choice but to sit and wait his ministrations out. She _hoped_ this strange, abrupt groping would-

The pressure on her back increased, and she was brought back to the night she escaped Shockwave’s clutches, when he had comforted her. He was making gentle circles with his digits, pushing her top up more, and tracing the outline of her ribs.

It was relaxing. She didn’t want it to be, but she didn’t have a lot of choice in the matter. Megatron had never been one of the handsy owners, and so it was a bit awkward and unwarranted for him to suddenly initiate some pampering, but as usual, his word was her law.

True to his promise, a soft cloth was draped over her back and his servo, protecting her skin from the drafty air in the rafters. His metal was warm, as it always was, his systems humming high and a faint pulse of Energon in the tips of his digits. The commotion from the stage started to fade. Her eyes slowly lidded.

_“Slagger!”_

She felt herself jolt back awake, another cry echoing up towards the box amid the raucous Cybertronian being shouted out. She tried to surge forward, but Megatron’s digits gripped around her middle.

“What are you doing?” He whispered, his tone hard.

She propped herself on her elbows, her voice rising above the quiet. “What’s going on? Who is-”

He jerked her waistband again, a rebuke. “Hush. You're causing a commotion.”

She pushed herself up further. “Just let me see this!”

She wondered for a second if her impulsiveness would get her a reprimand, but the pressure against her waist lifted. She scrambled to her feet to look over the railing as far as she could.

Far below, a platform had been set up on stage. The announcer was still strolling, engaging the crowd, but there was a strange hush over them now. Because _she_ was screaming.

She was so far away and so tiny she was nothing but a speck on a raised podium. It was definitely another human, definitely female from the pitch of the shriek, definitely angry.

Tweety felt her heart seize, her chest squeezing. “Megatron, is _this_ the woman?”

Something within him groaned as he sat forward, his hand cupping around her. “Yes, now lower your voice and come lie back down, you’re-“

“We have to buy her.” God, why couldn’t she hold her tongue better? She regretted the words the instant they fell from her lips, but Megatron didn’t get the chance to question her. Down below, more shouting joined the woman’s shrieks.

The stage was crowded, but Tweety could see a bit of what was happening. A mech was clambering up onto the stage, his twisted grin visible even from the distance. The announcer was raging wildly towards him, obviously distressed, but the mech was nonetheless not dissuaded. He stooped, and when he stood back up, the screaming woman was in his servos.

The theatre erupted in a murmur, and Tweety felt Megatron’s gyros tense beneath her. She couldn’t understand what was being said by the raving mech, but it was obvious that it was disturbing even to the other Cybertronians in the room. Megatron’s rasp suddenly barked out somewhere past his shoulder; the ground shook with footsteps, and she turned to watch several transformers disappear down the stairwell they had ascended earlier.

Then Megatron was cupping his servo around her, towel and all, and standing. He and his mechs approached the railing of the box, and her eye’s drifted to Megatron’s free servo gripping it tight. The woman’s cries snapped her attention back to her soon enough.

The mech was throwing something down on the stage — _credits,_ Tweety realized — and began appraising his new ‘acquisition.’ Tossing and turning her, holding her upright, down, side to side, the female’s screams only increased in intensity. Tweety heard drops of _slagger!_ and _don’t you dare touch that!_ in between the incoherence of her sheer volume and rapid-fire words. Her brain raced and her heart pounded in her chest.

She was about to turn to Megatron to beg to him again, but suddenly something, a phrase, a _name,_ rose above the rest of her hysterics.

_“Predaking!”_

It echoed through the theatre from the stage, amplified over the murmurs, and within seconds an answer came. A _roar._ It was distant, but the sheer force and power and _surprise_ had the entire crowd stilled.

As the seconds ticked by in silence, commotion drifted from behind the curtains. A femme stumbled out onto the platform to join the auctioneer and the bidding mech, blubbering hysterics that had the crowd shifting and crying out. Before she could say or do anything of substance for Tweety to recognize what was happening, the curtains were tossed, torn down. Another roar, this time real and loud and _close._ She felt this one in her very bones.

A machine, larger than Megatron, a _dragon,_ stormed the stage. The crowd erupted into chaos. Wings unfurled and teeth bared, it reared up on its hind legs and bore down on the mech that was holding the woman. The delinquent screamed, darting off the stage and barely missing the snapping maw of the beast. Tweety lost track of the woman in the bedlam for a moment, but she next spotted her back on her feet, standing near the dragon.

Megatron set her down on the railing. “Stay here,” and then he was vaulting over the railing with his officers, landing on their feet and approaching the stage and the snarling dragon mechanoid cautiously.

Tweety stood up hesitantly, her footing slick, and carefully made her way to the end closest to the stage.

Megatron whispered among his men for a moment, then made his way to the dragon-former with his blade drawn. The creature was preoccupied with the woman, neck craning down to sniff and nudge. She pointed towards the mechs, and it whirled around and seethed vehemently, wings flaring like the hood of a cobra.

Megatron paused in his approach. “We do not mean to harm you, human, only to secure the beast.” His voice was warning, not reassuring, his sword glinting in the low light. It promised retribution for retaliation.

She only laughed. “I’d like to see you ‘secure’ Predaking,” she came to the edge of the stage and settled her hands on her hips, eye contact steady with Megatron, “and I’d also like to see him hand your ass to you in the process.”

Tweety couldn’t see Megatron’s face, but she heard the smirk in his reply. “It’s been a long time since I’ve been beaten by a mere beast, human. Insecticons have not bested me, and this ancient relic from days past will not either. Your protector is little more than a reanimated fossil.”

And again, the dragon hissed, teeth bared in a snarl. The woman looked up towards her unlikely companion, eyebrows raised. A beat passed, and then it seemed like the pair had reached some kind of conclusion, turning back towards Megatron.

The dragon _shifted._ It transformed in a rapid series of movements that lasted a bit longer than the transformations Tweety had witnessed, as if the creature was either struggling to move so many parts or just struggling to transform in general. But the slowed process gave her a few moments to identify what was coming piece by piece: first, a torso, then legs and arms, and finally what looked to be a helm came out of the mess of the neck. Within a few moments, a tall, robust, regal mech stood glowering down at the Decepticons surrounding the stage.

Tweety couldn’t comprehend it. The dragon, the _Predacon,_ was supposed to be nothing more than a dangerous animal, was it not? Then how-

“Well, this is quite the surprise,” Megatron interrupted her thoughts, apparently having collected himself from his own shock. His hands met together behind his back, blade still extended. “I’m not sure if I should be glad… or if I should be _concerned.”_

He took a few more steps towards the stage, as if curious. “So, you call yourself ‘Predaking,’ do you, mech? And does ‘mech’ even suit you?”

The dragon-former’s face twisted into a sneer. “Mech is a lowly term for a species of my status, but I am afraid the proper terms for my kind have been lost to the ages. It will have to do.” He gathered himself up, easily towering over Megatron, “I will make my demands now: release me and the woman, and there will be no consequences to you. We will leave this planet peacefully and go to Earth.”

Tweety marveled at how Megatron somehow made hauling oneself onto the stage a power move. He stood several paces away from Predaking and made no further advancement, but it was obvious Megatron did not stop his approach out of fear. “I believe that would be a waste of talent and resources… Predaking. There is no reason for you and your pet to be banished to that underdeveloped, starving planet.”

Megatron straightened, eyeing the mechanoid. “Your sentience… changes things. Would it not be more beneficial, to everyone, for us to work together?”

Predaking’s brows rose, his eyes wide. He looked like he was about to laugh. “So, now that I've become _useful,_ you want to use me?”

“To the contrary,” Megatron waved a hand, dismissive, “if only we had known the extent of your abilities, this entire ordeal of Shockwave’s death would have gone much differently.”

Predaking stared for a moment at Megatron, like something was starting to click. “So Shockwave _is_… deactivated?”

Tweety saw and heard Megatron’s thoughts in every movement and every vocalization; he was treading carefully, hoping to find the correct angle to take this before he divulged too much information. “Shockwave has, in fact, rejoined the Well. We have been trying to sort through his estate for several weeks, and this auction is selling off the items that are deemed useless or otherwise safe for the public.”

Tweety heard the squint in Megatron’s next words. “But I have no idea why _you_ are here. Should you not be back in storage?”

The dragon-formers shoulders rose, his chest puffing out. He was many degrees calmer than before, but he still had the human cupped to his chest, tucked out of sight. “I will not leave Connie to your torture, no matter what kind of restraints you may try to use on me.”

_Connie._ They had a name now. Tweety’s eyes reflexively darted to the microscopic form of the woman that lied somewhere behind Predaking’s hand. He seemed rather attached to her, and she wondered at the time they must have spent together in the labyrinth of Shockwave’s estate. When had teamwork for survival turned into something fonder, more sweet, enough to drive this dragon-former character to put himself on the line for her?

Megatron continued the conversation without missing a beat. “That is something we will discuss in a moment. But tell me, did Shockwave know of your true state? Did you ever indicate to him that you were, in fact, self-aware and sentient?”

His face was like stone. “No. It did not seem… wise to do so under the circumstances. It only appeared necessary now to show myself to any of you, in order to prevent Connie’s downfall.”

And here, Megatron deemed to look away, glancing up towards the ceiling, thoughtful. “It would seem our scientist missed out on a great opportunity. He could have considered you closer, instead of assuming you to be of only baseness. And what a marvel this is, _you_ are! Who of us in the modern age knew that Predacons were of such intellect, advancement? Enough so to have… care.” His eyes darted to the hand that still cradled the woman, and Predaking’s flinch was noticeable even from Tweety’s distance. Megatron’s optics flicked up to his face once again, noting the mech’s guarded expression.

“You have your priorities. It is to protect the human, your _Connie._ I have my own as well.”

Tweety felt a shiver go down her spine, a warmth grow around her lungs and heart. She noted Megatron’s helm incline towards her direction, but he was looking back at Predaking before she could see his face.

“On earth, there will be little food for her. She will have a short, miserable lifespan. The danger there is far greater than anything on Cybertron,” he leaned in, optics dark, “if you pledge fealty to _me.”_

“But why is Shockwave dead?” Predaking seemed unimpressed, frame still puffed and bristling. “He was upset over something, something was distracting him. It was not within his character, those last few weeks. What happened? Did… did someone end my creator?”

_Will he lie?_ It was the question that Tweety had kept coming around to, because she knew that this would come up eventually. And the hardest part about it was, even with that last question, it was _still_ hard to understand where Predaking stood on the matter of Shockwave. His tone had been so distant, yet the term _creator_ rung in her ears and she was sure Megatron had noted it too.

As the silence dragged on, Predaking began to bristle once again, his shoulders hiking high. “Well, did someone? Did _you_ do it?”

Tweety saw Megatron’s stance go still, and in a strange move, his sword retracted. He cocked his head in the slightest. “Yes, Predaking. Your _creator_ met his end at my hand, for he was a treacherous, traitorous lier that wished to do _my_ priorities harm, as I’m sure he also did to yours.”

“And what did he do, exactly, that would warrant such drastic action?”

“He tried to kill my human.”

As the silence stretched, Tweety was surer and surer that Megatron had won. She wondered if Predaking would try to look around for her, but he seemed completely floored by the words. And she realized that it was not that Shockwave had tried to kill her that was shocking to him; it was that Megatron subscribed to a human. _“I have my priorities as well.”_

After several long moments, the dragon-former finally broke the still. “He was a mech of brilliance… but of madness.”

“His intelligence came at a price, and he paid it heavily. It is a sad thing, but had he not have passed, we, you and I, Predaking, would not have been able to meet each other. You would have _still_ been in the bowels of his laboratory.” Tweety heard the smile in his voice. “These events, though disturbing… have saved you and your charge.”

Predaking frowned, hesitant, and Connie looked up at him expectantly, almost angry. The air was heavy with suspense as Megatron and his company waited for Predaking’s reaction towards his carefully crafted spiel. And after a few moments, Predaking eventually broke the trance with a nod.

“There is much to decide between us, but for now we can live at peace, Megatron. As long as you swear you nor will any of your people harm my charge.”

Megatron grinned, the action inherently wolfish to Tweety. “I swear it.”


	13. And Now It Begins

When Megatron and Tweety entered the doors to headquarters, only one word could succinctly sum up what was going on: chaos.

“Megatron,” a single femme led the dozen or so nameless aids and clerks that suddenly appeared at his elbow, following him as he strode towards the main conference room, “there’s reports on your desk for the collection process, and-“

“I will need some signatures on the newest tax amendments,” beckoned another.

And still more, “Lord Megatron, I’ve got a few_ questions_ on how we want to handle the dragon, including-“

“My liege,” and Megatron halted, pivoting to see Soundwave approaching through the throng. The mech had Lazerbeak on one shoulder and Darren on the other, the human tapping away on a datapad. “The conference room is at max capacity. What should we do with overflow?”

Megatron’s brows rose, and fell, and an optic twitched. He slowly turned back to his course, and the throng followed him like they were an extension of him. “Open the doors to the back courtyard. They can filter out there.”

His hand clenched around Tweety and she almost yelped for fear of his talons impaling her. “I don’t know _why_ we’re even holding this conference. Yes, the dragon talks. Yes, it’s being given an abandoned building on the outskirts in the south sector. We should just announce that and be _done_ with it.”

“The appearance of a prehistoric cyber animal, and the revelation of it’s sentience, is cause for informing the masses, my lord.” Soundwave’s hand curled around Darren, bringing him into his palm and looking over his shoulder at his work. “We’ve been fielding messages from various departments since yesterday. If not handled, this could become… volatile..”

Megatron growled. “I’ll show them volatile. The last thing I need to deal with when trying to reason with a behemoth that could raze half my city in an instant is _questioning_ from nobodies from the lower levels of government. The message we need to get across is that we are _Decepticons,_ and we don’t need…”

Tweety had heard it a thousand times, so she began to zone out, taking in the bustle around them as they made their way around the curving hallway surrounding the inner chambers. There were new additions being made: Shockwave’s artifacts and valuables were being added to the interior decor of headquarter’s grandeur. Mechs stood on highlifts and ladders placing the acquisitions in their alcoves; power cores from Quintesson technology, deactivated Insecticon-inspired drones, the Matrix-

Her heart stopped. The spindly servos of one of them adjusted the gold and gunmetal grey emblem up onto a pedestal, the usual blue light emanating from it long dead. A stabbing pain started in her temples.

_No, no, no. This can’t be happening. How-_

And how did she even know that was the Matrix? _How-_

“Tweety? Are you alright?”

_Tweety, come with me. We need to talk._

“Tweety. Tweety!” The world was going dark, and her body became featherlight, without sensation.

_I have _ _much_ _ to tell you._

* * *

She was sitting in his palm, looking up, basking in Nevada warmth and morning desert air. His face was serious. But his face was always serious, so she never knew quite what she was dealing with. Besides the Prime, of course.

“Tweety,” his bass rumbled above her, and she canted her head to the side to meet his optics. He was staring out at the sun, same as her, but his eyes seemed fixed on something… not here.

“There’s something we need to talk about. Something… about the Matrix.”

Her brows pinched. “Why would I ever need to know about- I mean-”

“The Matrix has made some decisions about what will happen when- _if-_ the Decepticon’s manage to get the upper hand for any period of time.”

Tweety blinked. “Optimus, the Decepticons already have the upper hand.”

He frowned at her, blue optics so bright they hurt to look at. “Tweety-”

* * *

_“Tweety!”_

She jolted awake. Her world was filled with red — Megatron’s optics bathed her field of vision with crimson, flared and close as they were.

“Tweety! Wake up!”

She groaned, rolling over in his palm onto her side. She braced herself on an elbow and started to move. Her ears rang, and the headache that had started had peaked.

“We need to get her to the infirmary.” It was hard for Megatron’s voice to be anything other than a barely-restrained roar, but something in it sounded slightly panicked. And underneath that, Tweety knew he was concerned.

“I’m fine,” she spat, pushing herself upright. The lights — _God, the lights…_ She wobbled on both hands, her eyes firmly shut. “I’m fine.”

“Soundwave, I’m not doing the conference. Tell Starscream he will be-”

“I’m fine!” She opened her eyes, blinking furiously and looking up at him. “I”m fine. You’re not getting out of this.”

Megatron’s glare was seething. “You are not fine, you just-”

“I didn’t eat breakfast.” She put a hand to her stomach for emphasis, hoping to fake a gurgle or growl that Megatron might think he heard. “I’m fine. Get me to your office, or in the pen… get me some food, and I’m fine.”

The group was still huddled around Megatron, including the three laymen. All watched with wide optics as Megatron intently held Tweety’s glare, unreadable. He finally ex-vented a soft snort.

“You,” he turned to a femme, “take her to my office upstairs. Tell Knockout he’s to bring her a meal, now.”

She nodded. “Of course, Lord Megatron.”

Tweety’s world tipped yet again as Megatron slid her as gently as possible into the femme’s cupped servos. Every movement was nauseating, her head felt like a lead weight.

She didn’t bother to look at Megatron as the femme turned briskly and walked further down the hall. On a strong urge, she snuck a glance back at the Matrix sitting quietly at it’s station in the alcoves.

She gulped, a pang in her chest, a pull, making her stomach twist and the headache reach a crescendo.

_Tweety._

* * *

She stared at the ceiling up above command, her whole body taught like a strung bow, ready to fire.

_Tweety._

She flinched, shutting her eyes. The headache panged with each… incantation. Message. Summon. She felt herself panicking again, and she took steady, deep breaths to calm herself. _It will be okay. This is nothing. The Matrix is just… doing something._ She groaned, her hands on her face, and rolled over in the blankets. The light was becoming too much.

Around her, the other humans chattered and played. She heard Trystan trying to teach someone how to play his guitar. Probably Poppy.

The headache throbbed again, a steady cycle lasting a few minutes, like birth pangs. She barely heard anything else anymore. The noise from the badly-played chords would have irked her any other day, but not now.

She shut her eyes tighter if possible. Her chest started to get tight again, her lungs unable to breathe. She shoved the rising terror down, trying to file it someplace in her bones where it wouldn’t hurt her. Maybe she could do the same with the headache. Maybe she could do the same with the Matrix.

_How do I even know what the Matrix looks like? Why do I think that thing is… it?_ She was no Cybertronian artifact expert. But the moment she laid eyes on it… her mind had instinctively _known_. And the vivid memory of the red and blue mech had only made things more complicated.

She didn’t want to admit it, but there was no denying it: she had known Optimus Prime before the Decepticon takeover. How, she wasn’t even sure. But the Matrix had… reached out. It had connected with her, somehow, giving her a memory that was so strange she wouldn’t believe it was her’s if it hadn’t felt so real. All while she ate in Megatron’s office and Knockout gave her a physical, she had turned the events in the corridor over in her mind. Even after she was deposited here, she could not stop obsessing over it. She tried every way to make the event seem minor, or perhaps explain it away with some trivial physical issue like she had with Megatron, but she could not refute the logic.

Megatron’s suspicions had been right all those months ago. She had association with the Autobots, one way or another.

She didn’t understand some things: how could she have ever known Optimus Prime, or any Autobots, for that matter, if he had been killed vorns, _hundreds_ of years ago? Their lifetimes had not overlapped. It was not possible. And why, if she had close association with the Autobots, had that mech in Shockwave’s lab not given her some indication beyond his vague urgency for her to escape with her life? She had not had the chance — much less the _desire_ to contemplate that conversation — since her rescue and Megatron’s brutal interrogation. What the Autobot said had been beyond confusing. She had been so terrified, she had to strain to remember his words.

_“You’re important, Tweety.”_

What was that supposed to mean? How… how could she have been involved in _any_ Autobot scheme?

She pulled the covers up and rolled onto her side. Perhaps sleep would make this all seem much, much smaller.

“Hey! You!”

Tweety stiffened, clutching the blankets harder. _What now?_ She rolled over, looking around bleary-eyed before finding the source of the noise. A woman, perhaps a few years older than her, tromped over with a kick in her step. Her hair was fine, blonde, and braided back into cornrows on one side of her head. She seemed… familiar.

“Hey, yeah, you’re Megatron’s kid,” she smiled, gesturing down at Tweety when she came to stand over her. “You nappin’?”

Tweety blinked a few times. “Yes.”

Her smile went wider. “Oh! Well, sorry to bother you, but I got orders from big boy to come sit with you for awhile… just until he knew it was safe to socialize with the rest of them.”

Tweety had not moved or budged an inch, but the woman plopped down next to her on the blankets, settling in until she was comfortable. Tweety eyed her, and when she noticed, she simply beamed back.

“Do I… know you?” Tweety’s brows pinched, her voice rising on the last word.

The woman blinked, dumbfounded, until she suddenly smiled and laughed. “Oh! That’s right! We’ve never met, have we? You see, I’ve seen you so many times from a distance, and you’re such hot shit around all Iacon… and _Shockwave_ talked about you so much… it’s just like I already know you.”

Tweety’s mind turned. _Shockwave. Megatron’s kid… big boy…_

“You’re Connie, aren’t you?”

“Yup.” She flashed teeth, beaming. “One and the same. Is Megatron around?”

Tweety shook her head. “No.”

“Well, damn, I was gonna yank his chain some more.” Her grin turned sly. “I don’t suppose you have any experience on what gets under his armor, do ya?”

The longer they spoke the more Tweety felt her expression morphing, brows pinching, eyes going wide. “… I-I don’t-”

And then Connie was laughing, nudging Tweety in the side. “Nah-haha, kid, just kidding you!”

Tweety looked down where she had ribbed her and back up at Connie as if the touch had burned her. _What’s this __woman’s deal?…_

With a content sigh, Connie leaned back on her elbows, staring around at the room. Seeming to grow bored, she looked back at Tweety, giving her an appraising sort of once-over. “So, how’d they catch you? You don’t _look_ to be the type that’d end up… eh, y’know, doing something stupid. To get caught. So how’d you do it?”

Tweety blinked a few times. She wanted to hear the story, _the_ story? She felt her stomach beginning to clench in tandem with her fists clutching the sheets. It was a long time ago now, but her body still reacted like it was fresh. She wasn’t really ready to tell that story. Not yet, and not to this woman, of all people.

“It’s… complicated.” She muttered, head falling and eyes on her own lap.

She wasn’t sure what she expected out of Connie at that, but the woman grabbing her hand took her by surprise. Tweety looked up into intense blue eyes. Connie gave her a half-smile.

“I get it, kid. It was wrong of me to ask.” She huffed, shaking her head and looking back to the humans in the pen. “I’m sure they’ve treated you the same. Like a freakshow. You sure as hell don’t need it from me.”

Then, the sobriety of the mood vanished with the return of her grin. “You want to hear mine?”

Tweety didn’t get a chance to answer, for the woman was suddenly burrowing down in her blankets right next to her. She felt the ticklish feeling of Connie’s leg hair brushing against her own, but before she could protest, she had them both trapped underneath the blankets. Her breath was warm against Tweety’s face. Only those bright eyes were visible in the dark, and pockets of hazy light where the blanket’s threads ran thin, like fuzzy stars.

“Don’t you dare dutch oven me,” she spat, wriggling a bit more to move herself down further. “Alright, well, before we get started, I’ve got to tell you — this isn’t a pretty story. And it’s not long. Or interesting. I was mostly just trying to find an excuse to get under the covers.”

Tweety’s brows lowered even further over her eyes, and Connie laughed. She launched into stories of badland horrors and heroics, giving her an extensive list of her relatives and a detailed recounting of the large, sprawling caravan they had formed. And Tweety could tell this was not going to be the short story she had advertised.

“You see, we were like families _used_ to be,” she moaned, hands arching in a sweeping gesture, “before the Cybertronians came in and broke our units apart. We were organized, efficient, and a broken arm or a sprained ankle meant little when you had all the others to take care of you. We probably would have been rulers if there was anything to rule.”

“But why struggle out in the wilderness for so long when you could have had food and shelter in captivity?” The words were out of Tweety’s mouth before she could stop them, and she watched Cornrows’ face fall. Tweety’s face flushed, and some deeper cognitive process started taking over as her heartbeat quickened. “I mean, there was nothing to rule, right? There’s nothing to see or eat or _anything_ and you’re just out there suffering and for what, exactly? I mean… well, you know…”

“I guess it’s the principle of the thing.” Connie’s voice had gone low, deflated of the luster and excitement it had. She looked at Tweety a bit differently now, like she had grown a second head. “I’d rather die owning myself than allowing someone else to control me… allowing someone else to _own me.”_

Tweety felt her throat dip into her stomach. What could she say to that? And then she felt a very surreal thing happening to her as the other woman watched her; Connie’s face and voice and ideas were her’s, but from so many months ago. How long had it been since she was captured? How long- when-

“But I get what you mean,” and the smile was back, Connie’s face bright and distracting but her eyes just a bit too knowing, “why even try when there’s all this nice stuff here? I mean, like this…” She burrowed under the blanket, letting out a theatrical sigh. “Do you know what I would have had to trade to get a blanket like this out there? If I was even lucky enough to ever find one! Wow…”

And her antics continued, and Tweety couldn’t help herself but laugh. The stories continued as well, long into the afternoon. Eventually Tweety opened up herself, and shared her traumatic events leading up to her capture. She realized then that the woman would do nothing to harm her intentionally; Connie was nothing but sympathetic and supportive, allowing her to talk about the procedure at the slavers hand openly for the first time.

“They… they did it without any anesthetics, the tools weren’t even sterile, I-”

“And you were tied down? Drugged?”

“I was so hysterical… I don’t even remember. Definitely restrained. But they had hit me over the head on the way in and I was pretty sure I had a concussion. And honestly… the thing that always bothered me was why they even did it. Why go through the trouble?”

Connie sighed, readjusting her position on the pallet and leaning forward. “I’ve heard… I’ve heard they use the girls they do it to as prostitutes. I remember we went by some outposts near the West Coast, farthest from the border patrols near Canada, and I noticed some brothels. I don’t doubt all the women and men there were being held captive.”

Tweety rubbed her arms. “It’s honestly not the worst thing I ever went through in the badlands, but… it was up there.”

“I’m sure no one here ever really understands, even your Megatron.” Connie glanced towards the titans working a distance away, and leaned in. “Especially your Megatron. You can always talk to me, y’know. Even about the worst thing.”

Tweety could see it now: Cornrows loaded with the knowledge of the worst thing she ever went through and having to carry that silently. _That would go over well._ Tweety had woke up in a metal world with no knowledge of who she was or what had happened to the world she knew. She tried to imagine Connie sitting quietly on the knowledge her new friend had gingerly popped out of a time capsule into the badlands and didn’t see it happening. _Some things just need to be kept to yourself. _She thought grimly.

“Yeah… thanks. He can be… yeah.” She looked behind her to glance at the silver mech. He was sitting at the head of the command deck, head supported by his fist as he watched Starscream ream Knockout and the Constructicons for a likely slight offense.

And then Connie’s brows lowered, a smirk appearing. “But… I know about it. About you two. I don’t really know who doesn’t know, honestly, with how openly he defended you at the auction.”

“What?” Her dreads flung back against her chest as she whipped around to look at Connie. “I’m not- we’re- no! We’re not a thing. Not in a million years.”

“So quick to defend.” She scooted closer, her pale hand resting on her knee. “You don’t have to be so vocal about it, you know. Now we’re getting looks.”

And they were in fact getting looks. Tweety met the stares leveled at her and glared right back, having to hold back from baring her teeth in a threat. They quickly forgot them in her barely contained animosity.

Connie laughed heartily, holding her stomach with her hand. “Wow. Okay. I know not to tease you about your boyfriend now. You might end up murdering someone.”

Tweety squinted and cocked her head. “Why do you think it’s so funny, anyways? With you and Predaking involved?”

Connie’s face screwed up. “Who said we were involved?” She pushed her braids back over her shoulder, eyes averted. “We aren’t like that at all. Predaking and I are close out of necessity for survival. You don’t know what it was like.”

“Ha!” Tweety pointed, body lurching forward. “See! You don’t like someone making something out of nothing either! I mean, especially when it’s such a… _strange_ idea. Who would ever ship pets with their masters? We’re slaves, I mean - we're _slaves_. Doesn’t that mean something? Like we’re being forced into this whole situation?”

Cornrows pursed her lips. “Yeah. I see what you mean. But that doesn’t mean we can’t acknowledge chemistry when it’s actually there.”

Tweety quirked a brow. “I’m… no. No, that’s not okay.”

“You just don’t want to admit your feelings. You’re not ready. It’s okay, kid.”

“Well then what about you and Predaking?”

Connie replaced her smirk with a frown. “What about me and Predaking?”

“You’re certainly devoted to one another,” Tweety’s eyes looked up in thought, “and you’ve certainly got a dynamic. You’re probably blaring rock as you enter the room and he’s just your willing ride.”

She laughed. “Yeah, I guess, when you look at it that way. But we most certainly are platonic — I couldn’t imagine-” and she snorted, covering her mouth with a hand. Tweety couldn’t help but join in and soon they were wheezing with tears in their eyes.

Connie leaned over once they regained their breath. “But really — you should know how he first met me. I was buck naked, I had just finished with processing when Shockwave ordered a new batch for their subjects and then I was shuffled into _his_ processing.” Her eyes moved to the distance and went wide, her hands clutching the blanket tight. “I didn’t have clothes for a month afterwards and had all these sores from laying on the floor and- and Predaking, in dragon form, just came over and peered in my cage.

“He was about as terrifying as you’d expect. Eyes focused on me, poised, the smell of jet fuel and ash hanging all around him… and then he just curled up around my cage and went to sleep. Shockwave was furious when he came back, he wasn’t supposed to be out of his cage. I thought he was going to kill him but eventually he wandered back to his housing.” Her face drew down, going slack. “He has a built-in shock collar — I guess that’s what you’d call it — and he never gave Shockwave any problems. Never. I only saw him use it once and I understand why. He was out for a good ten minutes.”

Tweety leaned in, “How did you find out he was a mech too?”

“Well… I got to talking to him. At night, y’know. When I couldn’t sleep. One day I was just asking questions and petting him through the bars and suddenly he was standing up and transforming.” She laughed, “I’ve never been so mad in my life.”

Tweety giggled too. “You thought he was just a big dog.”

“A big dog! Yeah!” Connie slapped her thigh, and then held her belly as she tipped her head back with a guffaw. “Yeah! He still _is_ just a big dog!”

When they settled again, a companionable silence stretched. Tweety’s eyes flicked up, her head bowed. “What did… Shockwave do to you?”

Connie’s attention was startling, compared to their last minutes of happiness, and when she simply stared Tweety felt the words coming unbidden again. “How did he experiment on you? What- what did he do?”

Cornrows blinked, eyes drifting down. Without meeting her gaze, her lips turned up into a sad smile. “I think that’s a story for another time, kid.”

Tweety swallowed thickly. “I didn’t mean-“

“No, don’t. You didn’t, and I know that. We’re all… curious. I did it to you too. But you’ve had a lot more time between you and the badlands, and Shockwave just died.” She shook her head, the braids shifting on her shoulder. “It’ll take a lot more time for me to process… that.”

Tweety exhaled a breath she had been holding. Connie looked up, giving her a once over, and then her sad smile turned mischievous.

“Now, tell me… who’s the poshest pet?”

* * *

Megatron’s chest was warm. Her back singed above it, her head cradled on the lip of the divot holding his insignia. Both hands clasped _The Martian_ while he held up his own datapad and reviewed reports.

“What do you think about Predaking?” She flipped a page and twitched her foot rhythmically. She knew he was staring at the back of her head; it was in his voice, too.

“What do you mean ‘what do you think about Predaking?’ He’s a convert to the Decepticon cause, to the revival of Cybertron. Now, he’s a low-level soldier. What is there to think about?”

Her lips pursed. “You’re not worried about him following after Shockwave’s footsteps, being his…_“creation?”_ Isn’t that what you call kids?”

The chest beneath her huffed, and she smiled.

“Shockwave’s tendencies were genocidal and irrational. That Predaking would follow after him is plausible, but not of immediate concern.”

She quirked a brow. “So Shockwave was committing genocide, was he now?” She cringed a bit at herself after it left her mouth; her comeback was awkward and falling flat, and she knew he knew it.

But, he still played along. Another rise and fall from his chest, and she knew the theatrics were for her benefit. He was trying to use his size to intimidate. “Try harder. I’m not bothering with your games tonight.”

“A game? I didn’t know you thought conversation with me was challenging enough to be a game.”

“You are not-“

He cut off, and after a beat of silence she propped herself on an elbow and turned to look back at him. His optics, unfocused, darted about. He grumbled something under his breath and then stood.

“I am needed. You will stay here-“

“What’s going on? Does it have to do with the-“

“Do not interrupt me, pet.” His optics simmered. “You will stay here.”

She squinted her eyes to mirror his. “What’s going on?”

A servo came and cupped around her back as he sat up on the berth, depositing her on the bed and placing a soft blanket at her feet. He rolled his shoulders, and then turned to leave. “I will be back soon."

“Who’s bothering you?” She clutched the blanket then wrapped it around her shoulders, the chill in Darkmount now reaching her without his body heat.

He looked over his shoulder and gave her a sideways glance. “Your Autobot friend.”

Her face blanched. “Let me go with you!”

He was several steps out the door, but with a snarl he marched back to the bed. “Why? Why would I bother?”

She hesitated, the grip on the blanket winding tighter. “To… show my loyalty to you.”

_I can be useful_, her face communicated, eyebrows high and eyes wide and hopeful.

He barked a laugh. “And what would you do for me?”

_I still don’t trust you __or__ your groveling. And, it’s dangerous._ His optics squinted, hard.

“… Please.” _I can make it up to you._

He turned to leave. “Stay. And be good.” _Don’t bother._

“Please!” _Let me try!_

He paused at the door for a long moment, the indecision hanging over Tweety like a guillotine. Then, he turned, coming back to scoop her and the blanket up together and marched out the door. She was still in her pajamas, but she didn’t care. She grabbed a thumb and steeled herself.

She looked up into his eyes, and he gave her a glance. He didn’t need words. _I’m watching you._

* * *

The halls were almost too small for a mech of Megatron’s height. Tweety held onto his shoulder chevron so tightly her knuckles became a light cream as he ducked to enter the interrogation room.

Soundwave stood in the corner, recording, and Starscream was breastplate to breastplate with the Autobot. His talon-tipped servos were dripping a puddle of Energon onto the floor. Tweety couldn’t make herself look at the mech chained to the ceiling until Megatron grunted at her, motioning with his head at his second and the prisoner.

The Autobot’s faded paint was in even worse condition than she had remembered: his armor was cut open in jagged slashes, and energon stained the corner of his mouth. One door panel had already been mutilated, the underside’s protoform peeled back and his wiring exposed. The opposite servo had been treated too. Energon flowed freely down his arm and she couldn’t see the intricate details of the servo for all the liquid. For all her gaping, he didn’t seem to see her there. She felt her stomach beginning to clench and her mouth water from the back of her throat forward.

For all her terror, Megatron smiled. “So, where are we, Starscream?”

“Smokescreen here was just about to tell me the location of the remaining Autobots.” He smiled, head tipping forward, his denta gleaming in the ray of the bright light above Smokescreen.

“Last known, Screamer. It’s been years since I’ve seen them.” Smokescreen’s head lolled from one side to the other, his words mumbled. When she caught sight of his optics, they were empty, dull.

They brightened to a hot white when Starscream stuck his talons into his side.

“Starscream,” Megatron’s growl was so intense it reverberated over Smokescreen’s scream, “we still have much to gleam from the slave.”

“Not…a…_slave!”_ Smokescreen groaned with the effort of lifting his shackled pedes, trying to strike his interrogator. The seeker merely snapped at them with an energon prod Tweety had somehow missed lying in his hand, and the Autobot was silent except for the rattle of his chains and too-big armor around his malnourished protoform as he convulsed.

“Silence!” Starscream screeched. “Enough of the theatrics. You gave us enough of that chasing you all around Iacon. Tell us where Ratchet and his rag-tag group of bandits lie, or I will let my squadron have their way with you.” He leaned in close to the Autobot, head tilted and smirking. “They have much worse in store than I could ever dream of because of all that difficulty you gave them.”

Smokescreen smiled. “I’m a fine piece of chassis, aren’t I?”

Starscream raised his prod again but Megatron beat him to the punch: the warlord stepped into his right hook as he swung, and Tweety heard the straining _crack_ of Smokescreen’s spinal column and the _crunch_ of his faceplates as his head twisted back over his shoulder. She stuffed her gasp back in her mouth before it could get out.

She felt heat rising up beneath her, Megatron’s frame growing hot with his fury. “Funny, Autobot. You’re right, I’m half the mind to take you back to my quarters.”

Her head whipped towards her master far faster than she could stop it. He _would?_

Smokescreen’s head somehow realigned itself back upright. His lip plates were pulled back on the left side of his face, making his words even more strained and muffled. “Oh, Megatron. That’s flattering. I’ll have to… decline.”

Megatron took a step forward and grinned. “It’s not like you’d have much choice anyways. I’m going to carve you into an ornament to hang above the entrance to Decepticon headquarters once were done here.” His sword unsheathed and rose to eye level, rested against his bare door wing. “Tell me where Ratchet is.”

“Not- _aargh!”_ The blade cut down on him in a minor slice. Energon trickled a few feet down the high shine.

“Where is he?” Tweety felt Megatron shift into it, and Smokescreen’s eyes rolled into the back of his head.

The Autobot panted. “Not… telling you.”

“Where is he?” Another inch.

Silence.

“Where?!”

“Stop!”

Tweety felt it fly from her mouth before she could stop it. Megatron looked at her, aghast in a way, but not quite sure what to do about it. Smokescreen’s face was contorted with pain but looked blank otherwise.

She looked up at her master, thinking faster than she could catch. “Please, I- you- you don’t have to do this…”

She saw the blankness in his eyes, but she couldn’t stop herself from digging her hole deeper. “We need him, we can use a cortical physic patch-“

“Useless.” Starscream spat, coming out of the darkness and back into the room’s attention. Tweety felt herself grow smaller with his every word. “She’s useless, Megatron, completely and totally-“

“I can handle my own, Starscream.” Megatron’s eyes never wavered from their lock on her, and his armor slowly rose to even greater heights. His optics cycled down to pinpricks and she felt herself growing smaller too.

“Hey Megs,” Smokescreen’s voice was high and tight, barely above a whisper. “I’m ready, I’ll talk. I’ll talk.”

The attention wasn’t on her anymore. She was looking at Smokescreen with the rest when the prisoner took a breath, and then sighed.

“Ratchet’s on Earth.”

Megatron leaned in, quirking an optic ridge. “Where?”

Smokescreen let a beat or two pass, and then he smiled. “He’s having lunch with Elvis.”

A loud _clang_ echoed through the chamber when Megatron hit him again, and then a hiss of static and rattling armor when Starscream shocked him afterwards. Tweety felt herself about to vomit, watching his body whine and writhe beneath the shock of the energon prod.

But before she could try anything else, Megatron was stepping away from the action. “Keep on him, Starscream.”

His optics settled back on her, dark promise in them.

“I have other matters to settle.”

* * *

Once the doors to the living quarters shut behind them, Tweety couldn’t contain it anymore.

“I just didn’t want you to-“

“Silence!”

She was plucked off his shoulder with none of the care he had learned to have with her. Air whipped her dreads back behind her as she landed unceremoniously onto the couch.

“You undermine me time and again. You protect my enemies and make my servants question my authority.”

He knelt to get closer, leaning into her space. There was only feet between their faces.

“Tell me why I shouldn’t deactivate you. Give me a good reason why.”

“I’m amusing.” The fear had somehow vanished, and in its place there was venom in her voice. “I give you good ideas. How many times have I saved your ass in front of your officers? Remember when Starscream was going on about the Earth import tariffs and I came back with research that proved his theory-“

“Darren was responsible for that instance!” He snarled, shoving the pointed tip of his digit in her chest, startling her backwards. “And don’t start with me. We’re not going over every small aid you’ve given me. You know _exactly_ what this is about.”

She simmered. “The Autobot was useful and you couldn’t just kill h-“

He roared, an animalistic sound without word or meaning besides his building rage. “I know what I was doing! I was testing you!”

“And how did I do?” She crossed her arms, cocking her hip as a display.

He leaned in close again, digits leaving dents in the cushions where he gripped it. “Don’t take that tone with me. You are one small step away from being flushed, as you humans put it. Or better yet, given to Starscream as a gift.”

She laughed. “Would you really, though? I’d be an admission you couldn’t handle me.”

He smirked. “You overestimate your importance. And you underestimate my intelligence, which is an insult. I would never allow a possession to have such power.”

Her face started slacking, drained of her vehemence. She let several beats pass. “Why are you even angry?”

“Because you are lying,” he got closer, “and have always been lying. That Autobot means something to you, and unless you’re willing to confess to your involvement with him, there will be consequences."

A digit tipped her chin up from where she had dipped it to the floor. “You are close to rock bottom, pet. My men see it, and I see it too. I cannot allow traitors to remain in my domain or the Decepticons will see me as weak, and it is only a matter of time before Starscream rallies a coup.”

She shivered. “I don’t know him, Megatron, I don’t know anything.”

He frowned. “That is sad. It means I will have to find a replacement for you.”

“No, I- … you don’t understand.”

“Then _enlighten_ me.”

She chewed on her lip. “I can’t tell you anything, Megatron.”

“Can’t, or won’t?” He sighed, “You’ve already disappointed me once today. Don’t disappoint me again.”

She opened her mouth to retort, but his face stopped her. He was calmer than he had ever been when confronting her, now, and something about that scared her. It was the calm before the storm, she knew. Her pulse had been rising steadily through the confrontation, but now her heart felt like it was lodged in her throat. Sweat beaded on her brow. She felt like a sinner caught in the act.

_He’s going to kill me if I don’t give him something. He means it now._

“Smokescreen recognized me.”

He cocked his head, his face not betraying anything. “Recognized you?”

She nodded. “Yes. He… he knew my name. He knew who I was.”

The air grew cold. “Why did he know who you were?”

“I don’t know. He never told me.”

“What did he tell you?”

She paused. “He told me- he told me nothing,” she took a shaky breath, “… and he didn’t say why. I guess I’m not supposed to know.”

His optics began to slowly dilate wider as the astroseconds were ticked out by the clock to the far wall. She had never noticed it before now, but the sound was growing frantic in her ears. It felt like the tempo to her death march.

He rose from the couch, gaze no longer attached to her but on the far wall. Once standing, he took several baited invents and exvents before he spoke again.

“You need to spend the night in the brig.”

Her heart leapt into her throat. “What?”

“You need to stay the night in the brig. It is the only way they will believe me.”

“Megatron, you’re not-“

She let out a strangled yelp as she was scooped up hurriedly. He was turning before she could say another word. She landed on her side in his palm. She looked over her shoulder up at him, brow furrowed.

“Megatron?”

He didn’t reply.

“Megatron?”

“Don’t speak to me, pet.”

* * *

The walk back to headquarters was long and silent, like many of the walks after their arguments. Tweety’s throat felt like she had a python wrapped around it, and her eyes stung. She felt a sob rising up every few moments. Megatron didn’t seem to be affected by the ordeal. His stoney face felt like a knife to the heart whenever she glanced at him. His eyes were facing forward, not willing to look at her. He put one pede in front of the other and paid his charge no mind.

He took a turn deeper into the complex once they were inside headquarters, away from the main offices and the war room. She had never been here before, and this was not where Smokescreen had been held for interrogation just hours earlier. The ceilings grew lower and the spaces more cramped, and the lighting was dim this late at night. Megatron amped up his bio lights after the darkness became so encroaching it was hard to see.

Her body jerked forward at a sudden stop, hands flexing on the gaps in his protometal to keep her balance. She looked up, and for what felt like the thousandth time she asked, “What are you doing, Megatron?”

He didn’t answer, and she wasn’t sure she even expected him to. He continued his march after punching in codes, passing by empty cells degraded by disuse and time. She was waiting for the right moment to say something, do anything to understand more, but she realized she already knew everything she needed to know. She just wanted things to be different._ Why did I think he would help me?_

_What have I done?_

They stopped after a long walk. She looked at the empty cell in front of her and then up at him. “What- what are you doing?”

At a ping from him, the door opened and he entered. She slid off his palm onto the floor and he turned immediately and locked the door from the outside.

“Megatron, you can’t-“

“I will return for you in the morning.”

His optics were ice-like, brittle, hard, and cold all at once. He looked like he might break at any moment, too.

She watched his back as he left, and after his pedesteps receded and it was quiet for a minute or more, she allowed herself to cry.

She spent hours in anxious worry, trying to puzzle through her mistakes, and she knew it was early morning by the time she found herself any sort of calm. It was impossible to tell the time, however. The darkness swallowed her and her senses without Megatron’s aid. The ache in her chest only grew in intensity, like there was a fist around her heart and shackles caging her lungs. What would Megatron do with her? Would he kill her? Was this it? He had been indecipherable to her, so the possible outcomes of this episode of estrangement took her brain in dozens of directions. She grew tired. She eventually fell into a fitful sleep, drifting between the waking world and her dreams of Megatron’s wrath many times throughout the night.

It was morning when it happened. She was awakened by a strange sensation, but not unfamiliar.

_Tweety._

“Damnit.” She muttered, rolling over again on the damp, hard floor and wrapping her arms around herself again for warmth.

_Tweety._

“Go away,” she spat into the dark, eyes still screwed tight. “It’s because of you all this is happening.”

_Tweety,_

_Awake._

Her entire body felt like it had been pushed into a vacuum, the air sucked out of her lungs and her hair standing on end. She sat up immediately, getting into a fighting stance and looking around frantically.

“Where are you? What did you just do?” Several beats passed. “Hey! Answer me!”

There was a _click_, and she looked around the room, searching for the source. Through the dim, she caught sight of the crack in the cell door. The lock had disengaged. It was open.

She padded the dozen yards to it and peeked her head out, squinting at the blackness. Not a soul was in the corridor nor did steps resound down the hallways.

_Tweety, come._

She put a foot back to brace herself, the sudden breathlessness coming over her again. The Matrix’s voice was changing, becoming more intense. It was as if it was speaking into someplace deeper than her own thoughts, her own mind, into something that was her very being. She stepped out of the cell and started her way down the hall, following the force.

It was like a homing beacon, it’s pangs getting stronger and stronger the further she moved. It led her out of the old cells, back to Command. The walk lasted an hour or so, between her peeking around corners and taking the long way around. She did so because she knew she wasn’t supposed to be out. She knew if someone caught her, she could be killed.

She didn’t want to think about what would happen if Megatron was the one to find her.

She was led back to the spot she had fainted that morning, where the Matrix had first spoken to her. The halls were different at this time of night; nothing of the usual hustle and bustle of Command. It was quiet, so quiet she could hear the thrum of the brightly lit and very active Matrix. It was obviously not as dead as she once thought.

_Tweety. The time has come._

She squinted up at the relic, irritation in her voice. “What do you mean ‘the time has come?’”

A pulse, again, deep in a place not her body nor her mind. The pain from that morning started in her head again. _We will show you._

She fell to the floor, her body going numb and the world going dark much faster this time.

_There is much to tell you._

* * *

She woke in a different place this time. She wasn’t in the desert nor was she in the world. She was elsewhere, something in her and around her and in and around the Matrix as well.

_You are summoned here for a great purpose. You will take us, the Matrix, to the one called Smokescreen to make him the next Prime._

She reeled. It was like waking up after a heavy faint, and she thought she might have been vomiting in her real body. She didn’t even know if she was in her mindscape or if she could move, but the sky above looked like it. It was like a violent sea, blues and blacks and oranges and reds flickering on her vision. The Matrix didn’t seem to have issues with it like Megatron had.

_Be still_ _. You are safe._

At that, her panic was gone. The pressure in the other of her smothered her like a heavy blanket. The bad weather dissipated, leaving the sky blue. Dark whirls feathered around the edges of her vision. And then, she realized she did have a body. This was her mind, like in the cortical psychic patch.

She sat up, noting her arms and legs, taking stock of every digit of her hands and toes. She stood, looking into the sky again and away from the confusing expanse of the landscape.

“Why am I here? What are you talking about, the new Prime?”

The pressure on her chest intensified, and at once she saw Smokescreen in a cell, hanging from his chains. _Purpose_ filled her; a wave of intent, demand for action.

_The new Prime is needed now, before Unicron’s chaos causes irreconcilable damage. Deliver the Matrix to him so he may eliminate the darkness._

“He’s going to be Prime?!” She cried, spinning in a circle. She couldn’t find the face of the voice, and it was hard to talk to something that wasn’t corporeal. “Why him?”

_The Matrix chooses whom it wishes. The day of destruction is imminent. You must act now to prevent the death of Cybetron._ _ _

“The death of Cybetron? What’s wrong with Cybertron?”

_Deliver the message. You will stop the darkness._

“… What’s the darkness?”

_The one who took Megatronus’ name, the very one who injected himself with the blood of the chaos bringer._

Her jaw hung open. “You’re going to kill Megatron?”

_The Prime will bring an end to the darkness. You will be counted among the deliverers of your generation. This is your imperative._

The Matrix allowed a beat to pass. She felt herself growing smaller.

_Megatron must perish _ _for balance to be restored._

Her mouth went dry. “You want Smokescreen to kill Megatron? What about redemption, ‘freedom is the right of all sentient beings,’ all that crap? You’re really just going to kill him?”

She thought she had felt the Matrix growing steadily more irritated with her, but now it was obvious: it’s tone was edging on aggressive. _The Warlord has been given many chances time and again, and refuses to renounce his master Unicron and his ways. __The time is now to act before the end of Cybertron._

“But what’s going to happen to Cybertron?” She stepped forward, and then made a circle, gesturing to the void. “What’s going on?”

_Primus will no longer wait for his children to correct their own mistakes. He will now destroy Cybertron to stop the Chaos Bringer from ravaging the entire universe. It has already infected the planet Earth, and Primus is all that is left that will act unless a new Prime is installed. _It paused, and it felt like someone was putting a hand on her shoulder. She looked there, but there was nothing. _The Autobots can fulfill the mission of Primus. They only need their anointed leader again._

The voice in the other got right up against her ear, something warm and comforting in her chest. _You must act to destroy your captor now, before it is too late for not just you, but everyone connected to him. The entire planet will be lost if something is not done._

She felt her mouth go dry. “But Megatron, he’s not-“

_There is no argument to be made for his case. Nothing-_

“No! Just wait a minute, I-“ She stopped, hugging herself, turning more circles. “I can’t do this. I can’t just kill him. He’s- I just can’t. I can’t let Smokescreen-“

_You are being foolish. _ _A new messenger must be chosen._

She looked up, brows furrowed, shocked.

_We will find another-_

“No! Wait, just wait!”

The Matrix went silent, and she paced. “When is Primus going to destroy Cybertron?”

_At the start of the new vorn is when Cybertron’s final stages of destruction will begin._

She counted on her fingers, her eyes widening. “Cybertron’s New Years is less than six months away.”

Silence after silence floated between her and the old Primes, until she looked up to the sky again. “I can do it. I can fix this before then. You just need to give me time!”

The Matrix’s hum intensified, something she had not realized was here in her mindscape. It drew on for what might have been the longest moments of her life. Megatron’s lifeless husk kept coming back into her mind; she wondered what it would look like, feel like to watch him be gone forever. To finally be rid of him.

_I would miss him._

The Matrix seemed to reach a conclusion. _We will wait six months for you. No more, no less. That is when we, the Primes of the past, and Primus will demand retribution for what has been done to the children of Primus._

The sky grew darker, a heady red and black. _Understand, Tweety, that this binds your fate to Megatron’s__, and potentially dooms all of Cybertron to destruction if he will not renounce his loyalty to Unicron.__ When he refuses to change his ways and return to our Creator’s path, you stand with him in his errors. __You will be fated to termination as he is._

“I know.” She gulped. “I know.”

_You have until the new vorn. Use your time wisely. _The world started to get hazier, and her entire body felt funny. She realized it was waking her up.

“Wait! What about my past? You know something about that! You chose me, forever ago! Who am I?”

_Until the new vorn, Tweety._

“Wait! You need to tell me-“

* * *

She awoke with a gasp, pulling herself upright from her prone position on the cold floor in the foyer. Her body trembled with the chill.

Her gaze went up the wall to see the Matrix still sitting high in it’s alcove. The last bits of it’s glow were fading away, and in seconds it was as quiet as it had been that morning.

“Six months,” she whispered, sitting up and rubbing her arms to bring back warmth into them. “Until the new vorn.”

Part of her wondered if it had all been a wild dream, but she knew it wasn’t. The stakes were too high to doubt herself for long. She felt horror building in her gut, like a little man pulling on all her innards. The image of Megatron dead kept floating in her mind.

She turned back down the halls, shuffling back to her cell in the early morning hours. She watched the sunrise before she wandered back down into the prison, wondering what Megatron had in store for her this day and wondering why she had just stuck her neck out for him. The Matrix’s warning still echoed in her head.

_Understand, Tweety, that this binds your fate to Megatron’s._

She felt the little man in her gut pull harder. She shut the door to her cell, and bent over to vomit.


End file.
